Forging Steel
by KhaleesiStormborn
Summary: "The prophets speak of Arthur's bane. You would do well to fear it, for it stalks him like a ghost in the night. Unless you act quickly, Emrys, even you cannot alter the never-ending circle of his fate." Albion's great trial has begun. Season 5. Fem!Merlin/Dark!Merlin. Sequel to "The Golden Effect."
1. Arthur's Bane: Mark of A Vates

_"Hello, all of you lovely people. Sorry for not uploading as quick as I would like. I've been suuupperrr busy with gishwhes, if any of you have seen my tumblr at all). And also, just school and stuff and so much writer's block. Both from watching the show, and writing this. It's been rather difficult to write this adaptation; it's like the writer's know what i'm doing and are testing my skills. It's been so hard to change from Merlynn to Gwen to everything, and... sigh. I guess you don't care what I have to say._

_As well as this, I've been dealing with a lot of personal issues that needed to be taken care of._

_But, anyway. Have you all been enjoying this new season? I have. Especially Mordred's character, who has been one of the reasons for my turmoil - this issue with Magic and shit, which has irritated me to the point where I'm tugging at my hair and screaming at the tv because I just don't know what to do. But, we'll get to that stepping stone when we reach it, eh? I'm not going to deny that I ship Merdred... at all. I do, and I'm especially going to be incorporating this into the fanfiction~"_

So this is the new story. "Forged Steel" - I kind of really like it, tbh, and I have to thank my dear friend Danielle for that! To new readers, uh, if you haven't read The Golden Effect, please do - I mean, even if you have seen season 5 it's still going to be a bit confusing for you! haha.

**CHAPTER 1 - ARTHUR'S BANE: PART 1.**

_"I don't know what we're doing,  
I don't know what we've done.  
But the fire is coming,  
So I think we should run." _

- "Run" by Daughter.

* * *

Three years passed.

Camelot thrived, as it always had, and life moved on.

Though, Merlynn was well aware that their hardship was far from over. She could still feel the dark magic creep closer and closer, curling around the edges of the castle with spidery legs. Despite her fear, she kept her best smiles on when she was around others, laughed and joked and lived, but she could never brush off that feeling of foreboding. Morgana was defeated, but she was not finished; not yet. Merlynn knew that well enough, had seen her come back over and over without fail to bring fear to the citizens and to her.

"Merlynn," Gwen's touch was soft on her bare shoulder, slow, as if not to scare her. "You're fading off again."

She blinked and removed her hand from her throat, where she had been absently toying with a necklace gifted to her on her wedding by Princess Elena, then turned to her friend with a reassuring smile. "Sorry, Gwen. It's not the best of days."

Gwaine and Percival, among sixty other knights of Camelot, were sent to patrol the path to Ismere weeks ago. They hadn't returned, and there had not been a word from them since - to say she was concerned was an understatement. The North, as Gaius once told her, was dangerous, more dangerous than anyone had ever known. Those who went to the North rarely came back and, if they did, they were changed or severely injured. Dangers that had not been recorded lived amongst the snow and ice; many said that monsters were conjured from within the ground, the product of nightmares.

Merlynn had yet to believe them but now that her friends were in danger, it passed her mind many times since.

"I understand. But if we know our men, they are strong, they are fighters - the knights of Camelot never go down without using every ounce of their strength," Gwen comforted as she tightened the ribbon at the back of Merlynn's bodice. Since becoming queen, it was necessary to wear gowns around the public eye, especially when there were matters to attend to - like the meetings of the Round Table. The gown she wore for the occasion was chosen purely for the colour, bold and a deep red colour, like it was a representation of Camelot, Gwen had commented.

"I guess you're right," she sighed. "I just... We've never gone to the North, and we have no _idea _what is even up there."

"Sefa," Gwen beckoned. The girl came to Camelot some year or so ago, tired and withdrawn and so very young, a little younger than Merlynn had been when she first arrived. She had come to the king and queen, begged to become a servant to the kingdom; they had agreed and Gwen quickly took to her. The two had become friends, Gwen acting as an advisor to the new maid. Sefa was quick, somewhat quiet and she worked with little complaint. Though, there was a clumsy charm to her, one that Merlynn noticed in herself when she was her age; she stumbled on her feet when she was called, but she was more attentive than she had once been.

She giggled a little. "Don't be so nervous, Sefa," she remarked. "I may have the title of a queen, but I'm a villager at heart."

Sefa blushed, and stammered out, "So - sorry, my - my lady. I hope your bedchambers are of high enough standard for you."

"Yes, it is," her smile, while genuine, tightened at the ends. She didn't think she would ever get used to the formal attention she was given daily; her friends, acquaintances she once had, now bowed and gushed when they saw her, as if she had never spoken a word to them before she was crowned. Her relationships with them was never the same, even when she told them to treat her the same. "I'm not entirely sure why you would willingly volunteer to be ordered around - I was forced into it."

"I - I like helping people, my lady." Merlynn was quick to notice the white sheen that washed over her peach-toned face as she spoke, "My father always said that I had a compassionate heart."

"I'm sure you do," Gwen commented sweetly.

Merlynn smiled at the girl, then turned to the mirror; she was still the same servant girl from three years ago, but she was _older. _Not only in the eyes, which many had said were at least a thousand years older than she, but in her face. Her features were stronger, _odder _almost; she looked more magical, more powerful. Perhaps, in the same way Morgana's had, her magic affected her appearance as she aged. Cheekbones jutted from skin pulled taut from a past of malnutrition, ears and smile too large for her face, eyes darker and more ancient over time. The dress _did _do justice for her body, which had also developed over the years. Her breasts, which were larger than she would have liked now that she was over twenty, went to a small waist and hips - her _hips, _formerly very small, were made larger by the layers beneath her gown and the tight boning of the bodice that forced her belly to be impossibly flat.

"We're going to be late for the meeting if we don't leave now," she was reminded, then, as she was sucked in to her self-observations.

Merlynn groaned and smoothed down her hair. "You're right."

She wasn't exactly thrilled to go to the meeting, to hear of another failed attempt in finding two of her closest friends, among the rest. So, she kept at a slow pace, breathing deep to prevent a panic attack and to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay. Gwen seemed to notice it almost immediately, and didn't bother to hide her grin as she nudged her waist.

"Are you being this slow on purpose?" she asked in mirth.

"A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early," she replied coolly. Merlynn locked her fingers together and rested them at her belly, trying to keep her posture straight as a queen's should be; usually, her shoulders fell forward, hunched, but it 'wasn't appropriate for a queen', so she had to practice the stance almost daily. "It shouldn't be a problem. I rarely speak at these meetings anyway."

"Arthur will certainly be angry," she remarked.

She rolled her eyes. "If Arthur gets mad at me I can just argue back - there is no 'I am your king so you must obey' rule now."

Sefa was silent behind them, and Merlynn knew why. Trained as a servant, they were supposed to be quiet and respectful toward their masters, and only speak to them if it was important or they were spoken to first. Seeing Gwen talk to her in such a way must have been a little shocking. "Fine," she gave in, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "He'll start shouting at people, and that is not a good way to start the morning."

As they reached the staircase leading down to the council chamber, she could hear him yelling at some servant, demanding them to find her. Merlynn rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Arthur," she reprimanded. Arthur paused and stared, a smile curving his lips. "You need to stop shouting at Edgar - poor boy's about to have a heart attack."

He chuckled and took her hand as she neared the bottom of the staircase, then tugged her closer to him, hand looping around her waist. "Sorry," he pressed a small kiss to her nose.

"No, you're not," she snorted. "But thanks for trying."

"Mama!" there was a little squeal from down the hall, and the padding of little footsteps soon followed.

Galahad was three now, a little adventurer; he ran from his mother whenever he got the chance to climb and play-fight with the knights and explore the kingdom on his little legs. He wanted to be a knight, just like his father, as he had told everybody at least a hundred times _each. _Arthur allowed him to join the meetings on the pure request that he was kept quiet through their discussions. The boy sported a small, red cloak almost identical to the knights and had a wooden sword swinging from his chubby hands as he raced down the corridor.

Lancelot was chasing him, hands outstretched inches from the boy; he was going much slower than necessary, prolonging the chase to amuse his son further but, when he finally grasped him by the waist, he tossed him into the air. The boy squealed with delight as he landed in Lancelot's arms and squirmed, eager to continue their game before the meeting.

Beside her, Gwen laughed before she joined her family, mussing her son's hair as he grabbed at her skirts and buried his face in her. "You two," she mused, and scrunched her nose up sweetly as a kiss was planted on her cheek.

"Mama, look!" he drew out his sword again from a makeshift scabbard that she had no doubt Gwaine gave him, and swung it a few times. "I got a sword! I'm a real knight now. I'll go out and fight dragons and bandits and save the king and queen!"

"I can see that," she giggled, kissing his head. "Let's go inside. We're late enough as it is."

Gwen was allowed a seat at the Round Table among the rest of them. She was a part of the original Round Table, as Arthur conceeded when she declined his offer the first time, and deserved as much a voice as the rest of them. Merlynn sat beside her husband and, with sad eyes, noticed the chair on her opposite side was empty - it was Gwaine's seat, usually, and it only reminded her how much she missed him.

"Noble knights of Camelot, countrymen... friends," Arthur began as each member took their seats around the table. "I welcome you to this meeting of the Round Table. Three long years we have been blessed with peace and prosperity, but now it seems as though a shadow has passed across our lands. Sir Gwaine set off to Ismere some six weeks ago, with him went three score of our finest men. There's been no word of them since."

Merlynn slumped in her seat a little, toying with the curls her hair had been styled into. She looked a sight, ungracefully seated in her chair, the circlet she wore instead of a crown usually lopsided atop her head, but she didn't care. She sighed; if Isolde were there, she would stand, slap her on the arm and demand her to stop being a child, that Gwaine and Percival and the knights were survivors. How she missed them.

_"We're leaving," Isolde said one morning, quick and quiet with that smile on her face._

_If Merlynn had water in her mouth, she would've spat it out. "What?" she had almost screamed it out. "No, you can't!"_

_"Merlynn, Tristan and I have spent most of our lives travelling, running. We miss it," it was spoken with a shrug._

_"But you don't have to run anymore, you can stay here - live here!"_

_Isolde had clicked her tongue and shook her head, then captured Merlynn in a hug that was so like her yet so very unlike the usual sassy smuggler. "We like it here, we do, but we just want to explore the world a little bit more. We'll be back whenever we get the chance, to see you and Arthur again, to relax, but we need this, Merlynn."_

And she had let them leave. Just like that. Their chamber was always open to them, whenever they returned - and they had, six months in between, all smiles and radiance and each time they seemed more in love with each other than the last time they visited. They would stay for a few weeks and then go off again, and Merlynn was fine with it. She would miss them, but she understood the need to be free all too well.

"At my request, Sir Elyan lead a search party to the wastelands of the North. He found no trace of Gwaine or his men," he continued, resigned. He hesitated, then said, "It is as if they have vanished from the face of the Earth." Then, his hand was on her shoulder and he squeezed, soft and comforting, the warmth seeping through her bare, chilly skin; they were his brothers, but they were hers, too. Even the thought of them in danger, her brothers, her _friends, _made her physically ill and she almost keeled over each time it passed her mind.

The meeting soon finished, with each men on their feet and nodding respectfully toward each other, and the king and queen. Merlynn touched her hands to her belly and tried to remain composed as she followed her husband from the room, eyes lowered and shoulders set. Leon's hand touched her elbow and squeezed, a subtle gesture of affection - around the men, the sort of affection that she showed the knights were not exactly encouraged by the elders who still believed they had access to the council.

Once they were back in their bedchamber, Arthur was quick to draw her into his arms and tug her close. Merlynn buried her face into his chest and linked her fingers into the chain-mail at his waist; his scent was sweet and warm and loving as always, and she breathed it in, feeling her shoulders slump. All she wanted was her brothers back, and she knew he did too. Knowing him, he wouldn't back down to finding his men and bringing them back, alive _or _dead.

"If I were to tell you to stay, would you?" he asked, lips brushing across her hair.

She snorted. "You know that would be pointless. I'd go whether or not you gave me permission."

"Figured as much," he remarked. Arthur's smile was tight; he knew there was little argument that could pass between them on the matter that didn't end up with her going. "You know, a king and queen can't continue to leave their kingdom."

"So, you should stay," she offered, a hint of both teasing and complete seriousness in her voice. "I can bring them back safely in no time, and you can rule over this kingdom. Here. In Camelot."

"_You _know that it isn't happening."

Merlynn rolled her eyes. "We have Gwen here, and Gaius - when Tristan and Isolde come back, they'll help. We have enough people to preside over the kingdom while we're gone."

"The elders won -"

"I don't care what the elders think. Gwen and Gaius, especially, are the advisors and take power when we leave. We can trust them, Arthur, to make the best judgement they can. I'll be able to contact them, anyway, if there are any issues," she pointed out.

His mouth formed a straight, thin line as he pondered the thought. Her magic concerned him, much more than he put on; magic was, for most of his life, a taboo, and evil, dark taboo. Those who had magic were considered criminals, the villains - they deserved to be persecuted for something that wasn't in their control. And now, his wife and queen, was one of those creatures, yet she was sweet and compassionate and strong and beautiful, all in the same. She couldn't be evil and yet, a small part inside of him - a hint of his father's influence - told him to let her go, send her to prison for having magic, for lying and betraying him.

Though, he knew he couldn't. Wouldn't. Arthur loved her far too much and the mere thought of harm coming upon her left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was, in every way, his now and he was hers. The magic did worry him, though; she was so powerful and brave, but he could now see the toll her magic took on her after she used it extensively. She would be weaker, tired, _older, _almost in the eyes. It was impossible to stop her, so he tried to protect her in the only way that he could, the only way he knew how, and she wouldn't allow him to.

The road to Ismere was dangerous and, deep down, he knew that he needed her alongside him. "Fine," he bit out, pressing a quick, harsh kiss to her forehead.

**[][][][][][]**

"We know that Gwaine and his men crossed the pass, here, at Isulfor. But beyond that, there was no trace. The trail went cold."

The map was laid out across the table from end to end, detailing each location in Albion. Red marks, spots from paint that Arthur and the knights had marked each time they patrolled an area and it was clean; green marks signalled kingdoms that were at peace with Camelot and, the black marks, little dots spotted across some, were their enemies. Ismere was blank - there was no telling where their loyalties lay, as there hadn't been much life there since the Purge.

Elyan ran his finger across the detailed path of Isulfor, stopping just at the trench that was beyond that point. Arthur watched, rubbing his bottom lip with the tip of his finger. "What of this story that the fortress of Ismere has been occupied once more?" he asked with a deep sigh.

"I heard many rumours, Sire. All of them had one name in common... Morgana," the name passed Elyan's lips like a breath in the wind.

Arthur's eyes immediately turned to his wife, and she had to force herself to return his gaze. A memory passed her mind, years ago, when they first discussed them having children. _She's not gone, she's not done yet, _her own voice echoed in her mind, a mantra. Morgana was always going to be in the world up until she had enough courage to kill her - it seemed that the only chance she could die was if it was her, the monster in the High Priestess' nightmares..._Emrys._

His jaw was tight and tense as he bit out, "Then we have no time to lose."

She knew it. The mere mention of his half-sister would send him into a stupor, and there was no tugging him from it; determination was overwhelming his entire being, fierce and rough and so_angry. _The betrayal never left him, not since he saw her standing beside Morgause with red lips sliding into that smirk, the smirk that hadn't left her face for the years after that moment, and many before it. Merlynn clenched her fists and bit her tongue, side-eying the physician who had taken to her side once they entered the chamber.

"Sire?" he spoke, soothing and calm as always. Yet, she knew better than to think that Gaius would _agree _to any suggestion made that would put Arthur, or her, in danger. "What if the rumours are true? You'd be walking into a trap." He stared at her then, and she tried to hide the sudden eagerness that bubbled beneath her breast like a pool of boiling water.

Morgana. Her enemy. She would be able to be face-to-face with her again. The High Priestess was a woman to be feared and, while she _did _fear her, she knew that they were matched with power._She is the darkness to your light, Merlynn._ "Before we argue like a couple of children, I'm going to make a suggestion. Morgana knows of your dedication and care for your knights, Arthur, so she'll be expecting us to come through straight. So, how about we ride to Ismere from the west through Annis' land?" she offered, running her fingers across the rough piece of parchment. "She thinks you're rash at making decisions, so doing this will take Morgana by surprise."

Arthur blinked, surprised. "Would Annis grant safe passage to so many armed men?"

"I believe she would, sire," Leon replied. His expression changed, then, and there was a sudden spark in the king's eyes as he followed the path from Camelot to Caerleon, until he finally stopped on the icy point at the top of the map - Ismere.

"Dispatch a rider immediately. We'll follow at dawn. Remember, if we're to succeed, no-one must know of our intentions."

The meeting ended on that order. Merlynn was the last to leave, her thoughts lingering on the map spread across the table. She thought about her and Morgana's final battle often, wondering who would succeed - she didn't know what she would do once she was in Morgana's presence. It was fight, or die, and she was still not willing to use her magic openly against her. It would ruin all she had worked up to. She was stuck in a conundrum. Merlynn wandered out, buried in her own mind, eyes on her interlocked hands. Then, she bumped into something soft and she was sent crashing to the floor along with the sounds of metal clattering.

"Oh, my gods! My lady, I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy, this is all my fault _please _don't punish me," the soft, sweet voice of Sefa, riddled with tears babbled nearby, then a hand was on her arm and she was being pulled up. She was almost crying, she was so worried, pale and shaking.

Merlynn chuckled and touched her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Sefa, it's all right. _Honestly. _I've bumped into enough people in my life to be angry," she admitted with a kind smile. Sefa let out a little breath of relief and crouched down to pick up the items she dropped; she jumped in surprise as she was joined by Merlynn, who only smiled again. "Believe me, don't be scared. I'm literally still the same servant that I was years ago, I've just... got a new title. I'll probably accidentally bump into you on occasion."

"Thank you, my lady," she breathed.

"Merlynn!" _That _hadn't changed. Even after they were married, he still beckoned her as if she was a servant still, as if she wasn't queen - he had either neglected to treat her differently, or he did it to make her feel better about being addressed so differently. Merlynn guessed it was the former; he didn't shout to make her feel better, he did it because he was impatient.

She rolled her eyes, and slowly rose to her feet, one hand on her too-tight belly, the other on the wall beside her. Standing with a gown on was much more difficult than any female had ever managed to tell her. Merlynn grimaced, and said, "I should go after him. He'll be a pouting mess if I take anymore time." She left, muttering about 'needy husbands' and how she 'never gets a free moment, always at his heels'.

The seamstresses made her clothes, upon _her _order, that would suit her riding. Sets of trousers and tunics were to be used rather than the gowns she was forced to wear when walking around the kingdom. They were comfortable and made from soft material, not scratchy and thin like her old clothing she used to wear. The purple one was her favourite, reminding her of what she used to be, before she became a queen. Almost the same colour (she had a lingering suspicion that Gwen told them the shade of her old clothes), but it was more form-fitting and made of better material. Gwen quickly stripped her from the gown and left, not without a hug and a kiss on the cheek, wishing her the luck that she would need when she saw Morgana.

She slid on the clothes as quickly as possible, sighing at the familiar feel of a neckerchief at her throat. Merlynn was all too eager to put her trousers on; she preferred the isolation, as it gave her freedom to run as far and as long as possible without having to lift up her skirts. And her boots, the same ones she always wore, encased her feet like they had never been taken off. They were her favourite item of clothing she owned - of all the gowns and slippers, her old, scuffed and taped boots were the one thing she could never dispose of.

It was home when she put on those boots.

**[][][][][][]**

Gwen was waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase, Galahad sitting by her feet playing with his wooden sword. Her smile widened when she saw Merlynn, dressed in clothes that were more than familiar to her, heading in her direction; she had gone on adventures before with Arthur, off on missions and quests for political and playful reasons, but none were this serious. Not in three years. The two embraced as they usually did, arms wrapped tight around the other, heads buried in shoulders.

"Be safe," Gwen whispered.

"You, too," she replied, pulling back with another smile. "Remember, if you need me, go to Gaius. He'll know what to do." Merlynn then crouched down to her godson, watching as the boy stood to accept her hug. "You are so beautiful, my little Galahad." He kissed her soundly on the cheek, smacking his lips in a way that made her giggle.

"I wanna come!" he objected with a pout.

"This is a dangerous mission, Galahad," his father's voice declared from behind her. "I'll be back soon, though. I promise." Then he was beside her and kissing his son's forehead; she nudged him playfully, sending him a little snicker. Lancelot stood, and he captured Gwen in a loving kiss.

"Keep her safe, too," his wife said, motioning toward Merlynn with her head.

Lancelot grinned. "Don't I always."

"And please come back to me in one piece."

"I promise."

They rode for hours. On, and on, and on, until her thighs chafed and she could feel a burn settle over the tops of her shoulders from the heat of the sun on her back. When they stopped, she was faced with a large gorge. It was deep and dry and void of all life; perfect territory for an above, or ground attack. Merlynn nibbled at her lower lip and brough Firefoot to a halt beside her husband.

"This gorge marks the start of Annis' lands," Arthur declared with a hint of uncertainty in his tone. He brought a _lot _of his men with him and, if there were an ambush, there was no accounting for each one of their lives - he needed all of them to save his stolen men from Ismere.

"It's prime ambush territory," Elyan remarked.

His mouth formed a straight line at the reminder. "Take some men and follow the ridge line," he ordered, and motioned for Merlynn to follow him. She followed dutifully, nudging Firefoot in his direction.

There was nothing interesting to see from their side of the gorge. It was hot, hot and dry, the air crisp and sharp and untouched, almost as though nothing had even come through the place in years. But, she felt magic ripple through the stone walls - the signature was unknown, but she knew magic when she felt it. It brushed hers in a soft caress, pulsing like a living, breathing thing and beckoning her to a place beyond the gorge. So powerful and yet, she didn't fear it.

Elyan met with them in the middle. The magic sourced from where he came, _that _she knew. Invisible ropes latched around her waist and pulled her to the location, a lover's kiss against her skin. She didn't want to ignore it, she wanted to run to it. The call was so strong, enticing on her tongue. "There's something you need to see," short and curt, Elyan said nothing more as he reared his horse and raced back in that direction.

Smoke turned to ash on her tongue as they neared. Then the smell, _oh, the smell, _of burning, rotting flesh, of blood and _death _attacked her, made her choke on it. Merlynn used her neckerchief to cover her mouth while she lead the horse through the valley of the dead bodies - bodies of women and children, faces either twisted in agony, or completely unrecognisable as they were covered in so much blood. The smell was overwhelming and she choked on it, lashes wet with tears from the ash and the horror of it all. The people were helpless against whatever - or, whoever - attacked them, no weapons nearby, no evidence of them defending themselves. All she could hear were the screams. She noticed that there were no men there, none at all; they were all...gone.

Nobody spoke. Each man dismounted from their horses, solemn and quiet, as they honoured each one of the dead. Merlynn was reminded of Percival, or his tale, of the similar pain he had experienced before he became a knight. The thought left her quickly when she felt that hum again, right beneath her feet, pulsing and _alive. _It wasn't a person, it was the place before her, a crack in the wall of rock that lined the village.

"_Emrys..." _it wasn't a sound, but a voice in her head. Perhaps it was a person after all. The voice was weak and pained, _dying. "Emrys..." _She blocked out all sound but that voice as she followed it into the hidden arch. A blast of power hit her; raw and so loud, it spoke to her.

Merlynn walked deeper into the cave, having to crouch down into the low ceilings to fit herself through. The halls were too small to fit more than one person at a time, and she barely squeezed through. The further she walked, the stronger the magic was, and the sounds of rushing water became louder. Then, she found it. The source of it all. But, she was not alone in the room; a man, old and crippled and..._dead, _was slumped on the stone seat near the pool, arm outstretched as though he tried to make contact with the water in his final moments.

His robes were old and tattered, hanging from his thin frame. There was a tattoo on the inner side of his forearm, she noticed, as she peered at him. Her fingers touched the symbol without thinking, and she gasped at how cold his body was but, curiously, how pliable he was beneath her touch. Usually, dead bodies felt like rock, almost, hard and tough, as though the life was sucked from them until they were but empty carcasses. The black spiral, the boldest part of the tattoo, was a Druid symbol, one that was on each and every Druid.

But, it was the yellow coil, like a snake without a head, that made her furrow her brow and look closer. She had never seen it before on any Druid, so he must have been an important member of the Druid community. His hand clamped down tight on her wrist, then, and a scream caught in her throat as he pulled her closer, shuttering and coughing beneath her. He wasn't dead, but he was on the edge of death, fading quickly.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Who did this to your village?"

The Druid's face was much younger than his eyes, which were wet with tears. "That it happened at all is all that matters," he gasped out, his grip tight on her. "I have been haunted by this moment for many years... since long before you set foot on this Earth, Emrys, I have waited for its arrival with the sorrow in my heart. For even as Camelot flowers, so the seeds of her destruction are being sown. The prophets speak of Arthur's bane. You would do well to fear it, for it stalks him like a ghost in the night. Unless you act quickly, Emrys, even you cannot alter the never-ending circle of his... fate."

_Seeds of her destruction... _He was talking about Morgana. Merlynn gulped and let go of his marked wrist, watching with wide eyes as it flopped into the water. She saw the water, then, turned milky white instead of the deep, clear blue it had been minutes before. It swirled viciously beneath his hand, creating _something _with it. She gripped the pool's edge, closer and closer to the image that was forming in the water.

_Red. The vision was drowning in it, red and terrible and red. __Footsteps, slow and lingering, was all she could see, could hear. A squelching of blood burst from beneath the man's feet; there was no remorse as he passed the bodies that lined either side of him, not even recognition of the clash of steel against steel echoing around the field._

_The sky was so red. Flames licked the edges of her vision, and she could almost feel the heat flushed against her skin._

_Then, she saw him. Arthur. He was on his feet, but there was blood staining his chain-mail and there was a look of horror and betrayal on his face as he regarded the other man in the vision. She saw the enemy's face, pale and young, blue eyes fierce and so _angry. _Their swords clashed, and Arthur..._

_Arthur fell._

"Is he alive?" the voice was sudden and insistent. Merlynn gasped and scrambled away from the pool, her entire body riddled with tremors; hands touched her waist, and she almost crumpled against the body she was thrust against. It was Arthur. He wasn't dead, wasn't weak, wasn't injured - he was safe and warm and _alive _and she almost wept from the feel of his heart, strong and steady, against her ear. "What is it?"

"I..." she choked on her words. How could she tell him that she had seen a vision of him dying? She couldn't, _wouldn't _bring that upon him. Merlynn would be the dumb prophet, as always.

His kisses calmed her. "You've seen a dead man before. Is it because he's one of you?" an odd question, one that could be taken in either way, but she knew it was not meant as an offence - he didn't know that they were 'kin', didn't know what to call the inextricable link she had with her own kind.

"I... y - yes," she said, and he kissed her again, once on her cheek, twice on her lips.

"I'm sorry. As soon as we've given these people a proper burial, including him, we'll move out, okay?"

"Okay."

That night, she left. Merlynn suspected Arthur could feel her body leave, but he didn't object, didn't bother to wake; for that, she was grateful. She needed to speak to Kilgharrah. He was her guide, the light in the darkness to send her in the right direction - he knew the past, present and future and, while she depended on Gaius for the same advice, she felt as though the dragon was so much... _more. _He was her kin.

"_O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd' hup' anankes!" _she roared into the sky as she ran, ran and ran and ran until her calves burned.

Merlynn found him at the border of a cave, awaiting her. He was still the same dragon - it was as though that, since the Purge, he hadn't aged. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps dragons age by the millenia. Kilgharrah never told her how old he was, how old the world was when he was brought into it. She didn't bother to ask, but it burned at the back of her mouth like acid, desperate to be spat out before it sunk through her skin.

She would ask him one day. But today was not that day; there was no time for a greeting, for memories or catching up for lost-time, or her curiosity about his past. "I need to know about a Druid symbol," she called to him. "A black spiral, within it a thin, yellow coil."

He pondered, humming beneath his breath. "It is the mark of a vates," he said finally, his eyes suddenly narrow and curious, if not a little concerned. "A Druid seer. Where did you encounter him?"

"On my journey here. He was...dying, at a village not too far from this point. He warned me of Arthur's 'bane'," she admitted with a gloomy sigh. Merlynn could only guess that Arthur's bane was the boy he fought in the vision. He looked so familiar, the boy. There was something about his eyes that still burned in her mind as though they were hot pokers pressing at her thoughts. But where had she seen them before?

"His _bane?" _Kilgharrah echoed.

She nodded, tense now, as she recalled the vision. The detail of it was so fresh in her mind it was almost like it had happened mere moments ago, before she ran to him. "And, then...then, he showed me a vision," she went on. "A battle. A horrible battle. Arthur was fighting, and there was... Kilgharrah, he - he fell. I watched as he was defeated." Tears burned her eyes, and she roughly wiped them away, groaning a little at how upset she was - surely, the future was not set in stone? If it was, than life was not the life she wanted. To know that the one man she loved most was to die in the future, near from what he looked like in the vision, was beyond cruel.

The gods were punishing her.

"The vates' power of prophecy is unrivalled, even by a high priestess," he mused, grim.

"So," she cleared her throat, fearing the answer she would receive, "this battle _will _come to pass?"

Kilgharrah sighed. He set his body weight onto his back legs and leaned his face down to her, nuzzling as gently as possible against his kin's face. A breath of laughter left her at the affection, and he smiled, in the only way a dragon could smile. "Merlynn... I do not know. I wish I did, but a Druid seer can see far much more than I possibly could. All I know is that your meeting was not a coincidence."

"I should heed his warning, then?" she asked.

"There was a _time _when the words of a vates were considered a gift," he recalled.

Merlynn's chuckle was without amusement, bitter and short. "Then why does it feel like such a burden? Cruelty does not begin to describe the gods' 'gift' to me."

"A wise man is not cowed by knowledge, Merlynn," Kilgharrah proclaimed. "Instead, he - or, in this case _she -_ uses it to guide her."

"_How?" _She was so lost, so hopeless and _helpless _against the words of a seer.

"That is something only you can decide," he replied, his voice grim. "But remember, the vates singled you out for a reason. Now, more than ever, it is you and you alone that can keep Arthur safe."

"As always."

* * *

_So, that was _that. _I'm sorry it took so long to upload this; the current season has been a mad house, especially the most recent one. I mean, fucking Gwen man, I just want to kill her now. I understand she was brainwashed, but _jesus christ! _Anyway, so I hope you enjoyed it and, please, review. I want to know how you've been enjoying the season and my current interpretation of it :)_

**Strazza: **mhm, is it bad that I still love him? sorry, not sorry. He probably does, omfg! aksjfdfjbflbgfkb i ship them so hard it's ridiculous, why. But I probably will, sometime, since Morded doesn't get a lot of screentime!

**Reverie: **Aithusa went off with Morgana, and then all that stuff happened. When I write Merlynn and Aithusa's reunion, I'm going to make it a bit different, obviously, but the reuinion on the show was so sad I almost cried azkdlffblgbk.

**intensewhatever: **oh, I'm glad you like it! :)

**SuperPotterWhoLock: **your username, I love it, ahhh! I'm uploading it here, just because I cbf tbh and yeah, oops! But I guess it'll be easier and if you guys really want I can separate it later on after season 5 ends. And, ahahah I'm glad you liked it!

**The-Flame-Faerie: **ah, I have so much homework right now but I've been doing this whoops aksdkflflkbb. And ahh thank you, you're awesome I like you omfg.

**angel2u: **they're not going to have a kid, even if Arthur wants it. I just... it's _so _inconvenient and I already regret giving Gwen and Lance a kid right now because omfg evil!Gwen. and thank you? I guess ahaha.

**TheDuckKnight: **ah, thank you! I know, and I read some spoilers which I think? Gwaine get's a love interest but she's evil so we'll see :S

**Ultimate Mask: **don't hurt me! I'm going to finish it, I swear. and ahefldlbkffldkvflg you make me blush with your generosity thank.

_Okay, so hopefully I'll do it a weekly, or fortnightly, thing if I can get through school, because I have assignments and a pile of homework and whoops I'm so horrible at this whole school thing. Also, if you want to talk to me some more, or anything, follow me on tumblr:_ hemsicorns . com

Also, okay so we've had this discussion before but, now that she's older, I was wondering who could be Merlynn: Emilia Clarke (you know why; khaleesi, also she's got the whole badass thing going on and compassion and all the greatness maybe I should just leave it at her because she's so fab) , Felicity Jones (who i've been leaning towards for a while because Jessica Brown-Findlay just doesn't cut it now eh i made a wrong decision even considering her), Zooey Deschanel, Marion Cotillard, Meghan Ory (WHO IS RED RIDING HOOD ON ONCE UPON A TIME PLS GO WATCH IT! Only because she's good at being a wolf and her eyes turn gold and she's oddly beautiful and alkwslfkflbkhn)

Love you all!


	2. Arthur's Bane: Road To Ismere

**Hey, guys! I've gotten preeetty good reception from all of you when I uploaded the chapter, which is so great. :D I was worried that you wouldn't, tbh omfg. Buuuttt, yes, I'm super duper pleased with how you all reacted to this adaption. **

**This fucking season, tho. Oh my god. I'm so irritated with some of the plot lines that they've taken, and I want to stab aaaaall the writers who decided that what they were doing was a _'good idea'. _It's going to be hell to adapt it, but... I guess I'll try. School is over in a few weeks, so there may be a small hiatus, but when school finishes OH BOY WILL WE HAVE SOME FUN! :D **

**Anyway. So, hope you enjoy this chapter! :) Mordred comes along, and I'm so excited about my little plot bunnies concerning my baby Druid. **

**(**Ive gotten almost 200 in total emails from all of you - oh my god, i almost cried from happiness I swear to god aldkdlfbkfglb)

**CHAPTER 116 - ARTHUR'S BANE: PART 1.**

_"All the rules are changing now_  
_You're living in sin_  
_Everything around you is caving in_  
_All you're holding on to _  
_Slipping like water through your hands_"

- 'Black' by Kari Kimmel.

* * *

Annis couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her guards told her that an army of Camelot soldiers were heading their way, seeking housing for the night and she had accepted. After all, she and Arthur had declared a peace treaty between them, and who was she to break it? No, the one thing that surprised her was...Merlynn. _Queen _Merlynn, her mind corrected. Of course, she knew already that Arthur married her - word travels fast and, while she had declined due to other duties, she had received the invitation - but, seeing her was entirely different matter.

When she first encountered the girl, she almost sent her to her death. Merlynn had been so willing to die for her king, just to keep him safe; she was no fool, she knew that she loved him and suspected that it was mutual. Annis was old enough and lived through enough to see love in its purest form. The woman before her now hadn't changed, but she had. At first, she hadn't cared for the girl's name, never thought of her again - until, she got that invitation. Then, she started to care. Arthur was a good soul and, if he was to marry for love, not power, it made him even stronger.

Merlynn was young, she was beautiful in the oddest way, but... she was haunted, she was broken and damaged and scarred. More than a woman her age should have been - Annis would have been lying if she said that she had suffered more than what this girl looked like now. When Arthur didn't look at her, when she turned away to stare at the view beyond the trees, she was old. So old. It made her curious, since Arthur didn't look the same; he was haunted and damaged, yes, but not like Merlynn was.

But, it didn't change her. A guard took hold of her horse's reins and she dismounted in the most gracefully ungraceful fashion, then turned to Arthur to obviously send him a cheeky comment; he rolled his eyes and retorted, then tugged her in for a quick kiss. Annis smiled from the balcony. If she had seen the interaction with anyone else, she would say it was, "young love; short, sweet and painful." But, not with these two. With Merlynn and Arthur, it was _different. _Silly of her to think it, but it was true - the sort of love she could see was old and deep and strong. Much stronger than her love for her late lord husband, if she would admit.

"Queen Merlynn," she greeted when she saw the woman, and noticed, with surprise, the girl flush and immediately curtsied in the deepest respect.

"My lady, thank you for giving our people safe passage," she said humbly. Annis noted the 'our' she used, and glanced to Arthur, who could barely conceal the smile forming on his lips.

"'Tis no problem. Besides, we're allies now, it comes with a few advantages," she mused with a small chuckle.

Annis lead them to dinner. She watched, not even bothering to conceal her amusement, as Merlynn chattered about like a bird without a care of the looks some of Caerleon's maids gave her, gaping and gasping over the interior of the castle. Arthur snickered and took her arm, pulling her close to whisper calming words in her ear, to keep her dormant for a little while, at least. Annis remembered when she was a girl, not much older than Merlynn, she guessed, and she was first married to Caerleon. Excited, she did the same, gushing over the designs on the walls and the view, but then she was slapped and scolded by her father to keep dutiful and subservient to him, and her new husband.

"Oh, and look at the _sky!" _Merlynn was saying, forcefully dragging Arthur to the window. Annis smirked.

"Yes, she is always like this, my lady," a dark-haired knight told her, a faint grin on his lips.

"I don't mind at all. She's quite a breath of fresh air, even," Annis remarked. "I'm so used to the usual formality, it's nice to see a girl with fire and emotion. A kingdom needs someone like your queen."

"She is something, indeed, my lady," he responded.

She was surprised to see such elegance and poise in the way the new queen sat at the table for supper. Annis kept a keen eye on her, curiouser and curiouser each moment, as she set her shoulders and quirked her lips into a respectful smile. Merlynn was once a fool in her eyes, but now she was so much more. So, _so _much more. A servant placed a plate filled to the brim before her, and she flushed and thanked her until the boy was red in the face and shaking.

"Oh, you really didn't have to. I was about to get my own dinner, but thank you so much for your service," she said with the sweetest smile she had ever seen on a royal, and squeezed the boy's hand.

"'Ti - tis no - no trouble, m - my lady," he stammered out, bowing low in his place. "Just doing m - my duty."

"Well, thank you anyway."

Annis leaned over Arthur to peer at her closer, "My, my... you are quite something, aren't you?"

"Sorry, Queen Annis. I have known the life of a servant enough to realise that there is little appreciation for the work that is completed by the workers, and now as queen I have more of an opportunity to be grateful for what they do," she admitted, tearing off a small piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. Arthur could do nothing but smile, and it made Annis' widen.

The girl was different, indeed. "Hm. Anyway, what did you say you saw on your journey?" she turned her attention to Arthur.

"A... village nearby, it was attacked, completely destroyed," he told her.

"All the men were gone," Elyan added.

Annis sighed, and set her fork down to the table; she didn't have the heart to eat while she spoke of such dark matters. "What you saw at Asgorath is no surprise. Some months ago, Saxons began raiding our villages. They're rounding up all the men they can find and taking them to Ismere."

"Is she building an army?" Merlynn inquired curiously. Annis noticed a dark expression take hold of the most curious looking person in the entire kingdom; her eyes, she had noticed, were full of pain and now she could see the _anger, _so black and burning, bursting through and tearing at the seams. She and Morgana obviously had a much more intricate past than anyone would ever know.

"People say Morgana is tearing the citadel apart," she mused with a bitter smile.

"Why?"

Annis shrugged and took a sip of the wine in her goblet, "She must be searching for something. I dare not think what."

"So," Arthur interjected, "my men may still be alive?"

"Yes. There is every chance," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder.

That night, Arthur noticed something in Merlynn that wasn't there earlier. She was unresponsive and absent, following him dutifully to their guest chambers and completely silent as she undressed and changed. Aside from the small sighs that left her lips he was sure she was under a spell, she was so quiet. Merlynn sat by the fire, tugging at the sleeves of her underclothes (she hadn't brought any night dresses), staring intensely into the flames. He clenched his jaw thoughtfully - what could be wrong with her? She seemed fine at dinner. He moved behind her, running his fingers down her arms and pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

"What's wrong?" he murmured against her hair.

She craned her head back to stare up at him, "I'm not sure we should go to Ismere."

His breath was a sigh against her ear, and he pulled her up by her arms, consuming her in his; she pressed a kiss to his collarbone to soothe his concern, if not briefly. "You heard Annis - our men are alive!" he pointed out, his smile gleaming. Even then, her own smile was forced, strained and tight, and then it crumbled. Reassuring him falsely would do nothing.

"We don't know that," she said quietly.

"Those men are our brothers, and they are the strongest men in the land. Whatever Morgana has them doing, they'll keep fighting," he replied in a reassuring tone, peppering kisses over her face. She smiled despite her doubt and nuzzled her nose against his.

**[][][][][][]**

Gwen was kept in the main castle while she was assigned as the advisor while the king and queen went off to Ismere. Galahad kept by her side for the most of her time spent in the castle walls, either playing with the toys that had been given to him over the years of his life, or babbling on about nothing and everything at her feet. Sefa made wonderful company for both herself and her son and watched over Galahad when she was too busy to multi-task.

Her husband and best friend were gone, off again on another adventure while she stayed home and watched over the kingdom - it wasn't her job, but she was all too honoured to be trusted so much by Merlynn and Arthur. Gaius was, of course, by her side always as a second-in-command. The people held her at high regard despite her servant status, as they knew of her new rank in the kingdom and her friendship with the queen. Camelot was in a different mind-frame now, with a servant for a queen and now, a maid for a temporary ruler.

Gwen went to bed early that night without supper. She wasn't hungry and she couldn't stop her worry for all of them, her friends, her husband and her brother - she couldn't even sleep. The wind cooled the room, made her sigh as it brushed over her face and skin. She went to it, pulling it closed; it would be ice when she woke the next morning, so she took her precautions. That was when she saw Sefa, hood thrown over her head, heading out through the south gate, and she smiled. Perhaps she was off to see her lover, the one she spoke so sweetly about?

_I will see you again, Lancelot, _she swore to him silently. _You will come home to me. _

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn was engulfed in a hug not soon after she stepped into the courtyard. She was surprised to find the person hugging her was Queen Annis, the woman she thought was as cold as ice and one who didn't particular participate in physical affection. Even so, she returned it, hands pressed firmly against the fur shawl that covered her shoulders. Lancelot stared at the pair, and raised his brows at Merlynn, who subtly shook her head and gaped; she was more confused than he was, she was sure.

"What was that for?" she asked in confusion when she pulled back.

Queen Annis merely smiled, and said, "I was wrong about you. I feel glad that I have allies like you and Arthur. I'd hate to lose you two."

"Thank you, my lady."

Arthur was beginning to think that night was the hour of Merlynn's sadness. She was fine all day since they left Caerleon, laughing and joking with the men, showing him affection but, as soon as they set camp for the evening and sat to eat, she separated herself from them. Merlynn sat near the creek that was by the campfire, swirling patterns in the water; he sighed, and stood to join her.

Lancelot took him by the arm, then, and told him, "I'll speak to her." He watched as the knight moved beside her and slung an arm around her shoulder, so casual and sweet with her always. The loyal Lancelot, he mused, noble and kind. Arthur used to loathe their relationship, but with time he grew to accept it; if it were Gwaine, he would feel differently, but Lancelot was different.

"Come now, Merlynn," he breathed, pulling her close to his side.

"How can they _laugh _and _joke?" _she spat. She sounded so angry, angry and _sad. _Lancelot pressed a kiss to her temple, and felt her fingers link into his chain-mail as a sigh escaped her. Merlynn had changed over the past few years, and he wondered whether it was for the better, or for the worst. "They should know of Ismere, of what lies ahead. The fact Morgana is rumoured to be there should change _everything, _but even Arthur is having a jolly good time before we reach it."

"Yes, of course they know," he replied in a level way. "But 'a warrior learns to enjoy each day as it comes, -'"

"'Because he knows it may be his last'," she finished for him, rolling her eyes.

"Merlynn, I know what you're thinking. Morgana is ahead, she's powerful and she's dangerous and wants Arthur's head on a pike. But... we have you, and you have us. And we'll protect each other," Lancelot assured.

Merlynn turned to him and pursed her lips. "Something... isn't right. Something's gone wrong. I need you to promise me something. If things get rough down the line, if we're attacked, I need you to run. Go back to Camelot and tell Gwen to take any measures to figure things out - she has my consent to give any order. I'd write something down but, obviously, we didn't come with a parchment and quill."

"You think we're not safe?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

She gave him a bitter smile. "Are we ever?" she retorted wryly.

"Come and eat, Merlynn," he said after a moment as he stood and pulled her with him. Her arm looped around his waist, while his went around her shoulder. "It'll make you feel better."

Leon handed her a bowl of the soup he had, surprisingly, made; she accepted it with a weak smile, and sat between him and Arthur. He drew her close and handed her a spoon as she let her head fall to his shoulder. "I love you," he murmured, lips brushing over her temple. She wrapped her arm around the one at her waist and snuggled against him further - the knights didn't mind their affection, not even when she was a servant did they object to it.

Merlynn swallowed a mouthful of soup and, finally, she gave him a genuine smile. She didn't know how he did it, but he always knew how to make her smile, a _proper _smile. "I love you, too," she replied, stretching up for a quick kiss.

"It's going to be fine, okay? We'll get our men back, and we'll go straight home," he swore quietly, so the other knights didn't hear him.

"Okay." She tried to believe it, she really did. But when Morgana was involved, nothing was set.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur woke with his arms wrapped around his wife, her body curled into his. He sighed in content and pulled her closer; it was rare to see her sleeping next to him of a morning now, especially when they went out on missions. She was usually already awake, or she was a little further away from him, wrapped around herself seeking warmth. For the first time, she seemed..._relaxed, _in his arms, her breath warm and calm against his throat, her nose brushing his flesh every few seconds. The smell of ash from the dying fire hit his nose and he wrinkled it, burying his face in her hair.

"Sire?" Lancelot said, nudging his back with his foot. "I know you want to sleep, but Ismere is only a few hours ride away."

He groaned, but slowly removed himself from Merlynn. She, after a moment, opened her eyes and stretched like a cat; she smiled at him and kissed his chin, while he could do nothing but return it. It had been such a long time since morning affection in their bed had been shared and he wondered if it was because she was worried that something would go wrong, or if it was just because she was accepting the knight's code of life - to live each day, as if it was their last.

"You're happier this morning," he remarked as she strapped her sword to her hip. Merlynn merely continued to smile and tied her hair into the same messy maid's bun she always preferred when she was a servant.

"I need to stop worrying. We always come back," she said while he, too, got to his feet.

"Always," he agreed.

She rolled up the blankets they had used over the night and secured two of the three on Firefoot's saddle. The horse had aged, but never did she once give into her age and she pushed forward, stronger and faster than ever. Merlynn pressed her lips to the horse's nose and scratched her ears. "Morning, girl," she muttered, listening to her whinny in response. "Ready to go?"

Arthur, in such an uncharacteristic way, was behind her quickly, his hands on her hips, body pressed against her back. His lips touched her bare neck, then his teeth replaced them, biting and nibbling across her skin. She laughed breathlessly and pushed back against him, suddenly aware of all the eyes staring at them, in particular Leon and Elyan and Lancelot, who all chuckled to themselves. Merlynn rolled her eyes and pivoted on her foot to face her husband, her brow raised. "What?" he asked innocently.

"I'm happy, and you're affectionate. Obviously something is wrong," she teased.

"I'm always affectionate," he murmured against her cheekbone.

Merlynn scoffed, and swatted his hands away. "We need to go, you realise? Who knows what Morgana has our men doing."

There was a sudden noise in the distance, hooves thudding against the leafy forest floor. Each of them paused, and drew their weapons; Arthur made sure she was behind him as she kept her hand on Firefoot, just in case she needed to mount or smack her. "We're surrounded," she whispered, her forehead resting on his shoulder-blade. "Arthur..."

"We can't stay here." Leon stood closer to them than the rest of the men, hovering his hand near the queen. If not to protect the king, it was to protect the queen; the most powerful piece on the chessboard, the neck that turned the head of the kingdom.

Merlynn felt a thrum of power lick at her skin and she peered over her husband's shoulder. She remembered that day, three years ago, when she tore away Morgana's magic and made it her own; it was still there, dormant yet poisonous, mixed with her original magic. Morgana must have...regenerated it, she guessed, when she felt her stolen magic and the new power that the High Priestess had connect. "Morgana," she breathed.

"Run!" Arthur roared.

Her hand whacked Firefoot and she reared, then bolted, off away from the violence to wait for her when she was ready. Arthur took her hand but, before they could even move an inch, they were ambushed on all ends and separated as the Saxons attacked. She reeled back as an axe slammed down inches from her face and she swerved on her heel, slashing the Saxon straight across the belly. As he fell, she turned to the next man, and fought. Merlynn didn't need magic to fight now, for she was as equally skilled with a sword, but she still used it; Morgana had, somehow, found them, _cheated. _

_If she wanted to play dirty, _she mused as her sword drove deep into the Saxons belly, _I can play dirty too. _

Her fist slammed upwards and, with gold cloud, his head snapped backwards at an unnatural angle, the bone in his neck protruding from the top. A faint smirk curved her lips as she used her magic again to make a few of the branches collapse on top of the unsuspecting Saxons. Merlynn saw Morgana, then, atop her black steed like a shadow in the morning midst. In the midst of the battle, she felt magic pulse around them, crackling like a flame on every surface.

She didn't know how many Saxons she slayed in those few minutes but, as she backed off, defeating each man who came her way. Merlynn stumbled over something at her heels, and she was sent sprawling to the ground; it was Arthur, unconscious, but unharmed. He was still vulnerable, and the Saxons wouldn't ignore that he was still alive and kill him when he was at his weakest. She lifted him up and slung his arm over her shoulder, then began to lead him off away from the heat of the fight. Merlynn couldn't see any of the knights nearby, so she couldn't warn them, or tell Lancelot to run; all she could do was run herself.

Saxons chased them on horseback and on foot but, with magic, she lost them quickly. Merlynn reached a safe point a half-hour or so, away from the madness, a hidden part of the forest with plenty of hiding spots for her to use if the Saxons found them again. She set Arthur down and started a fire to keep them warm and then, she waited. He woke a little later, rubbing at his face and groaning. He was disoriented, staring around the area with glazed eyes while she merely smiled softly, one hand on his, the other at his chest.

"What happened?" he moaned.

"Morgana," she answered. "Somehow...she found out our plan, and ambushed us."

"Where are the others?" Arthur asked, alert.

He almost jumped to his feet, had she not pressed him back down to the floor with firm pressure to his chest. "They're most likely safe. I'd know if Lancelot was hurt, and I'm sure that they all retreated to Camelot to tell Gwen of the news."

"There's a traitor in the kingdom, then," he stated in a rough voice. His eyes, still a bit bleary from the blow, crackled with anger. Merlynn smiled, though it wasn't one of comfort or of happiness, it was tight and strained and possibly could be mistaken for a grimace.

"Must be," she agreed. "I hope Gwen has the courage to punish them if she does find the person."

"I would hope so. They put you in danger," he growled, and stretched up to kiss her, hot and fierce. His hand was on her neck and she was on top of him, pressed tight against his chest; his tongue brushed her lip but, before she could accept him, she reigned back into reality and pushed him away.

"Arthur, you're the one so willing to travel to Ismere for our men. Let's not get too distracted, eh?" she suggested, a silly little grin on her face as she pulled the pouting king up to his feet. "Come on."

**[][][][][][]**

Hours passed, and they hadn't stopped walking. One of the knights must have taken Firefoot with them back, since the mare never came to her call. Merlynn's feet were burning in her boots, chaffing at her heels and the pad of her foot. She couldn't take the walking any more, and almost rolled down the hill she was tripping so much.

"Can we take a break?" she begged.

"A quick one, yes. Want to reach Ismere by dark," Arthur said shortly.

Merlynn rolled her eyes and tugged at his arm, _forcing _him to stop. "This coming from the man who wouldn't stop kissing me earlier," she scoffed.

"Shall I remind you of the fact that _you _were the one to pull away and say we needed to hurry to Ismere?" he retorted, raising a blonde, mocking brow in her direction. She sighed, pouting as she stumbled down the hill toward Ismere. It was colder now, as they neared the Northern kingdom, and there was a hint of snow and ice beginning to form along the path.

"Fine! But when I see Morgana, I'm taking her out alone. I don't need you getting in my way," she shouted.

He paused finally, and whirled to face her, jaw clenched. "That was not a discussion we had."

"You're forgetting that _I _am Emrys, and that I can take care of myself. It's you that needs my protection. I can't stop her and look to see if you're still breathing at the same time, though I've done it before." It was a low blow, but she was tired, and irritated, and all she wanted was to go to Ismere on her own. She could see her words had affected Arthur; his nostrils flared, but there was hurt in his gaze, sorrow that she hadn't seen in a long time.

"We're here to get our men back," he bit out. "We're not going to go off on a search for Morgana, but if the opportunity comes, we can fight her _together. _I know you've got magic, Merlynn. I may not like it, but I've accepted it. You're possibly stronger than me and my 'protector', but I am your husband, I love you, and I _will _protect you as you have protected me. Deal?"

They shook hands, though hers was more reluctant than his. "Deal."

**[][][][][][]**

Lancelot was the first of the knights to reach Camelot. He almost leaped from his horse, Firefoot soaring beside him, and raced up the stairs to the council chamber while he heard the warning bells ringing through the halls. He had to get to his wife, or Gaius. _Go back and tell Gwen to take any means to figure things out - I give my consent. _She was already there when he burst through the door, her hand clutching her throat, hair and clothes dishevelled from sleep.

"Lancelo -"

"We were ambushed," he gasped out.

"Where's Merlynn? Or Arthur?"

"When Morgana and the Saxons came, we got separated. I think I saw them running before we had to retreat ourselves," Leon interjected, panting and gasping just like the rest of the men.

Gaius joined them in the council chamber promptly, his thinning hair mussed, robe wrapped around his body, slippers adorning his feet. He was awoken by the warning bells and a guard retrieving him for council. He did not speak until mention of Morgana, of Merlynn - and Arthur - disappearing and his voice, which he had tried to control, shook as he pondered, "But... _how _could Morgana have known?"

"Merlynn knew," Lancelot proclaimed. "She knew something bad was going to happen. She was right. Someone has betrayed us."

"There's a traitor in the kingdom?" Gwen suggested, eyes wide.

"I believe so."

**[][][][][][]**

They found a hidden cave area beneath the road to Ismere. It was too dangerous to start a fire, to draw attention to themselves; Ismere was minutes away, but it was difficult to see in the darkness without fire. So, they had to stop and rest for the evening. There was no time to search for food or to replenish their thirst; all the two could do was huddle in the crevice of the hill for warmth, and wait the night until the sun rose.

"That man," she said a few minutes after they had settled, "the one in the village... before he died, he tried to warn me. He told me that you were in danger and that the danger was close."

"So you think that he was talking about the ambush?" he asked, brows furrowed.

Merlynn sighed and shrugged; she didn't know _what _to think any more. The only thing she could really think about was who the traitor could be in the kingdom. She had ruled out the knights, since they would not do a thing to harm them. "I don't know," she replied. "I just... He was a Druid seer, Arthur." She felt him tense up as she mentioned the Druids, and had to force back another sigh. He was still... _touchy _about her magic and she supposed he always would be, no matter how much he loved her.

"And we're supposed to believe a dying man?" Arthur retorted.

"Some people say that in a person's dying moments they are the most honest they can be," she mused with a small smile on her face.

"So you're saying we should turn back when we're so close?"

She nodded. "Yes. Get more men so we can infiltrate Ismere _properly." _

"Merlynn, we can't do that," he denied almost instantly. "With or without you, I swear I'm going to rescue our men...or die trying."

"You should know by now that I'm going to protect you or die at your side," she promised, watching as he sighed and let his head rest against her shoulder.

Their backs were against the wall, arms wrapped around each other; he kissed her cloth-covered arm harshly, squeezing her waist. Arthur groaned and remarked, "Well, aren't we a great, self-sacrificing couple?" She could only laugh at the absurdity of the statement and how true it was.

**[][][][][][]**

"If only we had a horse."

His sixteenth complaint since they started walking. Morgana had passed by in the early morning, right above them but, luckily, hadn't caught sight of them. Even her Saxons seemed to ignore the almost obvious crevice in the wall. It wasn't as though she _wanted _the men to find them, but she had to laugh a little at how idiotic her soldiers appeared to be. Merlynn was so hungry, she was sure even _Morgana _could hear her stomach roar. Usually lack of sleep didn't affect her, since she normally didn't sleep often, but now she was tired and _starving. _

"Or a pig," she wasn't sure if the words came from her mouth, or her belly.

He chuckled and turned as she lagged behind. "You can't ride a pig!" he pointed out.

"No," she agreed, then added thoughtfully, mouth watering, "but we could roast it with carrots, parsnips, apples..."

"Merlynn," he groaned, rubbing at his own stomach. Arthur was famished, but he didn't mention it, and then she brought it up, and his belly roared to life. He could almost _smell _the roasted pig in front of him, crackling and juicy, and - "Oh, Merlynn, _why?" _

"No, you're right. That'd be a waste of apples. I'd stick it in a pie," she went on and licked her lips. If her stomach wasn't making obscenely loud noises before, it was a lion inside her body. "I'm so _hungry." _

"We'll eat after we get the knights back," Arthur told her.

Merlynn pushed ahead of him, running her fingers through her hair and scratching at her growling belly. She would rather do this whole thing on her own, then she could eat whenever she wanted to. "I have to eat something or I'll collapse," she whined and, just as she was about to go on a mighty search for a morsel to keep her hunger at bay, she saw them. Delectable, delicious... "Rabbits!"

They appeared to already be dead but, from what she could see, they were fresh and fluffy and _plump. _Merlynn shuffled closer to them and crouched, ready to snatch them and keep them to cook before they reached Ismere. As she picked them up, Arthur shouted her name and his arm looped around her waist before they were slung into the air, contained in rope, their bodies almost moulded together from the tight space.

"Merlynn!" he roared, shaking the trap violently as he moved in frustration.

All she cared about in that moment were the rabbits still clasped firmly in her grip. "I've still got them, don't worry."

**[][][][][][]**

Gwen absolutely _loathed _the responsibility in finding the culprit who had committed treason against Camelot. She was, in every sense of the word, merely a servant to the kingdom, a chambermaid, she had no law or right to be ordering people to death. No less, someone she may have known or befriended. It took a lot of discussion to discover who the perpetrator was but, in the end, it was her who figured it out.

The suspect was immediately sent to the council chamber. Gwen put on her best gown and stood before the council, the knights and Gaius, a (hopefully) stern look on her face; in a time such as this, it was not sympathy or mercy that was needed, it was a firm hand. Even when Sefa was thrown to the ground before her, when she cried out and stared up at her with a look of horror and bewilderment, she took a deep breath and set her lips in a straight line.

"The night before Arthur set out for Ismere there was a meeting of the King's Privy Council. Did you hear what was said?" she asked, her voice short and sharp.

Sefa shook her head wildly, hands trembling before her. She searched the crowd, the faces she had spoken to briefly once or twice, but never connected to - her father would have said to befriend them, to gain their trust in case of a situation such as this. But, with Gwen, she never expected the girl to be the one interrogating her. She had failed. "No," she whispered.

"And yet you were standing right outside the door," Gwen remarked.

"I - you told me to wait for you."

"A mistake I will punish myself for until the king and queen return," she said, and stepped toward the girl, eyes now soft and kind like she was familiar with. Her husband, her kind husband, joined her, their son - who she had become familiar with - in the arms of the physician. "Later that night, you left. We both know you left the city through the southern gate."

"I -"

"Sefa, _please _don't make this hard on yourself. All I want is the truth. Who did you see?" the Advisor of Camelot frowned and crouched before her. Sefa saw her concern, the anger she felt, the distrust; she would never admit it to her father, but she had become friendly with Gwen, and it almost hurt to see her staring with something other than her usual sweet smile.

"You wouldn't understand," she almost spat.

Gwen's fingers twitched, and she bit out, "Who did you see?!"

"Gwen -" her husband interjected, pulling her up. "Calm."

"My father," Sefa sobbed out finally, hands pressed to her cheeks, ashamed. "I saw my father."

"And you told him what you heard?" Lancelot questioned her then, one hand at his wife's waist as she loomed behind him.

"He only wants what's rightfully his. Were he a physician or a warrior, his skills would be revered. But sorcery!" Tension built in the room as the word was uttered, and Lancelot's lips pursed. Confliction, that was what he felt; he understood why he wanted magic to be a thing to be admired, not feared, since both he and his wife wanted the same for Merlynn. Lancelot guessed Sefa's father's allegiance to Morgana was based purely on objective. "He deserves respect like any man."

Gwen nudged passed him. "Respect is to be earned!" she snapped. "It cannot be bought with blood. Your treachery cost the lives of many good men, and you put the king and queen in danger."

"I didn't mean to..."

"You leave me no choice, Sefa. By the laws of Camelot, I sentence you to death," she declared.

She smiled then, but it was one of regret, of anger, "I have every right as the Advisor of Camelot. You will not be officially sentenced until the king or queen returns, but you are on trial. Take her to the cells."

**[][][][][][]**

"If I could reach my sword...we'd be able to cut the rope," Arthur grunted.

Merlynn gave up on her manoeuvring in the trap long ago, but he hadn't relented, prodding and pulling at the ropes to see if he could weaken it enough to drop them. It hadn't worked so far, and she had enough bruises on her belly and legs from his knees to be hopeful about escape. "It's not going to work," she sang, her fingers brushing through the dead rabbit's fur that was on her belly.

"How about you put that god forsaken magic to good use?" he barked at her, roughly wiping the sweat from his brow.

"You _really _don't like the fact that I have magic, do you?" she noted with a small laugh, a small, bitter sound.

Arthur groaned and slumped against the rope. "That's - _must _we have this discussion _now?" _

"Yes. We're stuck in this bloody trap and the only way we're going to get out is if we use my 'god forsaken' magic, but I know you're not too happy about that," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"_Fine. _I don't like it. I love you, and I love all of you, but... both my parents were killed through magic, my half-sister has been corrupted by magic, and I see that it has affected you," he told her.

"It's always affected me," she argued. "I was _born _with it, so of course my magic has changed with me, and I have changed with it. I'm sorry that you wanted me to be some normal, human girl who was a bit clumsy and convenient, but that's not what happened. I can't control what I am and, to be honest, I don't want to be anything but who I am. I love having magic," she smiled at the confession, and felt his eyes on her face as she spoke, which made it widen. "I wouldn't change it for anything else."

Arthur grimaced. "But -"

"Arthur, for so long, I hated this destiny, I hated having magic. I would have stripped it from the inside out if I could," she admitted. "But then, I... I feel so real, so _me _when I use magic. Magic was _woven _inside of me. I wasn't born with magic, I was made to have magic. I'm Emrys, and I always will be, no matter how much you don't like it."

"I've accepted your magic, Merlynn, but... it's difficult for me to acclimatise to it. You have to understand," he lamented.

"It's been three years -!"

"I know," he said, defeated. "I'm sorry. I'm... so sorry. Perhaps, in time, I can learn to love your magic but, until then...I can only give you this."

"Fine," she rubbed at her face and shifted.

Merlynn peered through the gaps in the rope and focused on finding a pole in the ground or knot in the tree. Arthur was silent beside her, and she was glad for it; she could put all her attention to see through the darkness and discover the holding device in the trap. She found it after a moment, hidden beside the tree that they dangled from. With a quick use of her magic, the rope snapped at the base and they were sent crashing to the ground.

She didn't expect to knock them both unconscious.

There was a sudden sharp pain at her head and she was dragged to her feet by her hair, forcing a retched scream from her throat. Her eyes snapped open, and she was blinded by the morning sun. They must have landed harder than she wanted, she thought to herself as a blade was placed firmly at her neck and she was pressed against a male body. Arthur was delirious as he woke to the sound of her screams, but he reached for his sword, which had detached from his hip during the struggle; before he could reach it, a foot slammed down and crushed his foot, preventing him from grabbing the weapon.

Arthur made eye contact with her and, for a still second, they simply stared at each other, before she nodded and turned her gaze to the leader. He was covered in furs and leather from head-to-toe, hair crusted with ice and snow, the skin on his left cheek red and frostbitten. The dark-haired man and the other three that were with him, who were in a similar state, obviously lived near, or in, Ismere. Slave traders, possibly, from the satisfied smirk on their faces.

They certainly hadn't been trying to catch an animal. "Sorry for wakin' ya," he leered and lifted Arthur's sword from the leaves. "The King of Camelot, and -" he eyed her and his teeth gleamed in the sunlight as he bared them in a smirk "- _pet? _You will fetch a handsome price, king boy." He touched the weapon to his chin, a silent warning of what was to come. "Alive _or dead. _Any last requests?"

"Please, just... let her go," Arthur pleaded, motioning to her. She opened her mouth to object, but he shot her a stern glare, ordering her to be quiet.

"I'm the Queen of Camelot. I'm probably worth a small fortune, and you'd have to kill me to get through to him," she declared, chin set, eyes flaring. Merlynn stared at the man unblinkingly as he dug the sword deeper into Arthur's chin and nodded to the one who had his knife to her neck.

She felt a sharp pressure, just as a voice rang out in the meadow, "Stop! Shouldn't we leave it to the Lady Morgana to decide their fate?"

It was another man. The surprise jolted her forward and deeper into the blade, and she hissed as she reeled back. The man holding her let her go and she turned to see... _him. _The man from the vision, Arthur's Bane, as the Druid seer had called him. He was there, before her; he was an exact replica of the vision, the same age, same _everything _aside from his attire. He wore all black, from his fur coat to the boots adorning his feet. There was a neck scarf around his neck and, in that moment, the odd remembrance of her neckerchief came to mind.

He was staring at her with intense blue eyes that were far more familiar than she would have liked. She _knew _him, not from the vision, but from somewhere else; she hadn't felt it in the vision but now, standing before him, there was some sort of connection between them that she couldn't ignore. It was nostalgia, a faded memory that never left her head and nagged at the back of her thoughts. The boy passed her, and helped Arthur to his feet, but he never let go of the arm. It appeared he was in a similar state, staring at the boy with bewilderment.

"You don't remember me, do you?" _That voice, _she pondered, her mind searching through each encounter she ever had, trying to find a match. "You saved my life once, many years ago," he told Arthur, a small smile on his face.

Then, she realised. "Mordred," his name left her lips in a breath, her mouth agape in horror.

That smile of his widened as he heard her. "Hello, Arthur."

* * *

**Please tell me what you thought of this chapter! :D **

**Ahsilaa: **I'm glad I finally got the inspiration to start up again, ahaha :)

**AubreyCaspianX: **I never really considered her, because I don't watch LotS. Buut, I have seen plenty of fanvideos and oh my god, she's so lovely and I can kind of see her as a female Merlin :3

**Dhragonis-Slytherin: **omfg thank, bby! I love you, too x

**BeckyBoo12221: **Well, everytime I complain to my friends about Gwen's characterisation this is what they reply with: "The mandrake roots turned her insane and Morgana turned her into a vulnerable, pitiful thing and then she brainwashed her" but still! Even if I understand why she's gone so evil, I just can't comprehend _how _she changed so quickly - 9 years of Merlin, _9 _years of Arwen... I just.

**Nerdman3000: **I don't know what I'm going to do, to be honest :S

**Scribbler95: **Like that is no pressure at all :P And akskdfjggkb you have no idea

**rat3000: **I've said this about a thousand times, _no._

**Magpie09: **hahaah, you're welcome! :) xx

**Bitrix: **yeah, same :c I mean, i love the series, but this season _especially _i just stare at the storyline with a look of hatred and the canon right now is ridiculous I can't wait to see when Gwen comes back like un-brainwashed i have ideas~ i mean, if that does happen.

**Jessica-Lilian: **oh my god, Merlin as the Dolma I've never laughed so hard at anything in my life I swear to god askfbkgbl and yeah, that part confused me _a lot _so I'm going to change that whole "i have no idea you have magic, Mordred, even though I know you're a druid."

**Um, sooo what did you think of the episode? I thought it was fab, although just Saimon? his whole little bromance that almost happened with Arthur oh my god I wanted it to happen then Gwen with her little smirky-ness came around and destroyed it just ugh i'm so done. **

**Tell me what you thought of the episode, oh, and this chapter! :) **

**Love you all,**

**Khaleesi x**


	3. Arthur's Bane: Mordred

I don't even think you guys understand how refreshing it is to have this on a whole other story; I mean, seeing '1,853' reviews there is pretty damn amazing and to have The Golden Effect on google as an option in 'Merlin fanfiction', but oh my god was it so difficult seeing that there was over a half a million words that just kept on growing, so I'm really glad I made this decision. (That was a really long sentence). Okay, so this whole season is just getting so much more intense and I can see the end coming and omfg i'm going to cry when it's all over because then I'll have to write it and it'll be 10, 000 times worse!

ugh ugh hgu

But please, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took so long to write this because ~writer's block~ but I like the direction I've gone in with Mordred and Merlynn and stuff.  
Please, tell me what you thought?

**CHAPTER 3 - ARTHUR'S BANE: PART 2**

_"See the sky is no man's land _  
_A darkened plume to stay _  
_Hope here needs a humble hand _  
_Not a fox found in your place."_

'Black Flies' - Ben Howard_  
_

* * *

Bound and tethered to the back of a carriage, they walked for miles. Two dozen of them, mostly men, pushed through thick snow and ice traps hidden beneath the earth; unrelenting, the slave traders made them push on, even when they collapsed from exhaustion. The leader, whose name she quickly learned was _Ragnor, _snapped and barked orders at his men every few minutes, and he never seemed satisfied with the speed of their movement, or the violence inflicted on the men they had captured. Merlynn was whipped half a dozen times by the sword of the nearest trader, who laughed each time she gasped or grunted from the steel hitting her back. Arthur bristled beside her each time, but knew better than to shout or argue with the man who was abusing her; he was dead on his feet anyway, pale and stumbling.

She could handle the hunger and thirst and exhaustion, but he couldn't.

"We need to get out of here," she whispered to him as they climbed over a hill. "They can't hand us over to Morgana."

Ismere was freezing. Snow covered every inch of it and was so thick that she had to lift her feet high in the air to take another step. It made the walk slower, though she found pleasure, at least a small amount, in the view of the land from the hills they clambered up. It was terribly beautiful, so pristine and white yet, in some parts, black as night, so contrasted and lovely. That was when she felt Mordred's eyes on her; no matter how much she glared, as soon as she turned away and dozed off, he was staring at her again.

_I should have killed him when he was a boy, _she thought, but there was a stab at her chest at the thought. Killing her own kin was a horrible thought, indeed, but it in the case of _Mordred, _it was different - their situation was different. He was no ordinary kin; in the end, he was supposed to be the cause of Arthur's demise. She could, though, still see glimpse of the boy he once was, the one she cared for, the boy who didn't wish her - or Arthur - dead. It was when the sword was slammed down on her back, or when one of the horses brushed dangerously close to her body when she stumbled and threatened to crush her; he winced and after a while, to her surprise, kept by her side.

"Stay silent," he had said, when Ragnor called for camp. "Do everything he says. Please, _Emrys." _The final word, her name - her Druid name - was said through their mental link, a whisper in her thoughts. She almost reared back from the shock of his voice; so long, it had been, since she had spoken to anyone in her thoughts. Merlynn gaped at him as he smiled a small smile and disconnected the ropes from the back of the cart so each prisoner could be separated.

Mordred took hold of her section of rope and dragged her to a spot in the snow away from the main camp, then left her to do the same with the rest. Shackles were clasped on their feet so they couldn't run, or move from their allocated spot; she wasn't even close enough to speak to Arthur without shouting at him. No food or water graced them, not even a morsel to replenish them. Each man would collapse from exhaustion before they reached the fortress if Ragnor pushed them any harder. Merlynn let out a chilling breath and huddled in on herself as best she could, knowing that Ismere's harsh weather would only worsen once the sun melted into the darkness.

Ragnor somehow managed to get a fire started, too far for the heat to warm her, but close enough to tease her. Bread and cold meat were distributed among the slave traders, and her stomach roared as they chewed it down. She noticed that Mordred only ate a small portion of his food, letting the rest fall into his lap unseen by his coat; when he noticed her staring, he only nodded his head and returned his attention to Ragnor again, who was bragging about capturing Arthur Pendragon and his wife.

Merlynn wondered how he became a part of Ragnor's crew. The last time she saw him, he had damned her then run off. He was but a boy then, and she had been sure that he would have died on his own. To see him among _slave traders... _it made her think of what had happened after the battle, where he had gone to survive.

"Wha' are you lookin' at, princess?" Ragnor's voice pierced through the silence, and she knew he was targeting it at her. She was the only female in the group of prisoners; he had said, when asked why he was taking a female with him, that she would be "Morgana's play toy." Merlynn almost hissed at the pet name; it had been, for the longest time, Gwaine's name to call her, and she almost shouted at him. _Waste of energy, _she thought bitterly, huffing. The slave trader grinned and stabbed a blade into a frozen loaf of bread, holding it up for her to see. "You hungry? Here, catch."

He tossed it toward her, but it didn't even get in range of her hands. A strangled noise left her throat - she, in that moment, thought of begging. _You are strong, you are Emrys. Don't._ She took a deep breath and settled her head down to her knees, then took a deep breath. Merlynn once didn't eat for weeks; she could last longer than her stomach thought she could.

"Maybe we should feed them," Mordred suggested. She stared at him in surprise.

"What for? They'll be skin and bones," he leered. "Morgana wants slaves, not hogs for the fire."

He grimaced. "Then slow the pace."

"The quicker we get there, the quicker I get my money."

Nothing else was discussed. Merlynn didn't sleep, unlike the others who eventually settled down into the snow as the fire died away; she couldn't - _wouldn't - _sleep. Her eyes burned, drooped and she could feel exhaustion creep over her senses again. But, not once did she give in. Not when Arthur's 'bane' slept inches from them.

Morning came quickly. She watched the sun disappear and rise, felt the cold become more bearable. Merlynn guessed it was almost dawn. As she glanced at the camp where all the traders slept, she saw Mordred inching towar her, his hood concealing his hair and cheeks from the icy wind. She couldn't even feel her ears any more, though they burned from time to time when she touched them. He crouched before her, a grimace on his face, his gloved hand reaching out to touch her cheek. She leaned back, a snarl on his face and, in return, he sighed.

"What do you want?" she hissed quietly.

Mordred slid a couple of small loaves of bread - which she remembered he had kept them in his lap instead of eating - and offered them to her. "Do you want them?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. Merlynn would have thought he would be pleased with her starvation but, as he stared at her, blue eyes almost innocent, she wondered what was going on in his head.

He glanced at Arthur's shaking form. "He once saved my life. I owe him a debt," he answered simply, and faced her again. "Don't be so quick to judge me."

"Not likely," she retorted.

"You fear me, Emrys, don't you?" he asked her then, his smile sad. "I know the hatred and suspicion which men treat those with magic. You and I... we're not so different."

She scoffed, and thought of a time when he was a boy, when she sought the dragon who lived beneath the castle for advice. "You and him are as different as night and day, Merlynn," he had said, when she was so hopeful, so young and naïve. Back then, she only wanted someone she could share her magic with, to do spells and laugh and learn. Merlynn had once thought that she and Mordred were exactly alike, but Kilgharrah was quick to dull them, with promises that he would kill Arthur when the time came.

"We are as different as night and day," she quoted, her voice almost a mumble.

He smirked, but ignored her commented, and added, "I, too, have learned to hide my gifts. I promise - your secret is safe with me."

"I thought you hated me," she said, brows furrowed.

"I once thought I did. But then, I didn't. I understood what you did, and why you did it - I was just a boy, then," he replied.

Merlynn bit her lip. "What's Morgana looking for in Ismere?" she had changed the subject, she knew, but she didn't care.

"The Diamair," he responded.

"What's that?"

"In the language of my people, it means 'The Key'," he explained. Mordred's face dropped as he mentioned his people; she thought, again, of how long it had been since he last saw a Druid.

"The key to what?" she questioned.

"The Key to all knowledge." He stared at her with a small smile as her jaw dropped. Once, the two were allies, and she hoped that, once they reached Ismere, he wouldn't be seduced into a friendship with Morgana again. If the two were companions, and if Morgana had the Key in her possession, then they were all doomed.

**[][][][][][]**

Gwen maintained her duties as Advisor as best she could with her son and husband at her side; no word from the king _or _queen, and she was utterly hopeless. Most of the issues of the kingdom had been given to her and she was expected to have the right answer each time. She was merely a servant, given a duty by a friend. Gwen began to understand why Merlynn complained of the responsibility of being a queen. She expected a few days, at the latest, but as a week went by, the peace and calm of the city dwindled. Without their true royals to watch over them, they increasingly expressed their concerns of safety to her.

What was left of the knights kept high watch over the people at all hours, only stopping to relieve themselves and to keep her updated. They ate while on duty, and not once did they complain. Gwen sat at the long table in the council chamber, thumbs rubbing circles into her temples; all she wanted was her son, to play and cuddle with, her husband to talk to. But, both were out on duty in the Lower Town. Why did she get all the responsibility to watch over Camelot? True, there were no others - other than Gaius - as trustworthy, but surely, the physician had more status over her?

_Apparently not, _she noted, as Gaius took the seat at her right. Gwen was at the head of the table, waiting for the arrival of Sefa. While the two had become close over the past year or so of Sefa's training, she cared more for the safety of Merlynn, Arthur and the knights, than for some girl.

"Gwen," Sefa stammered out as she was roughly shoved into the chamber by two of the sentry.

_Like a queen. _Gwen straightened her shoulders and inclined her chin upwards to assert her authority over the girl; at least, she hoped she looked the part. Truly, she didn't want to _kill _the girl - she didn't have the power to, but she was sure that Merlynn wouldn't give into temptation of corporeal punishment as of yet. Sefa's father _was _her kin. "Sefa," she replied curtly. "You asked to see me."

"I'm sorry for what I did. It was wrong, I know," her voice cracked, and she lurched forward, hands resting inches from hers as if she wished to grab them in her desperation. Though, not once did she take the risk. "It was without thinking. I didn't mean to hurt _anyone. _I wouldn't. I..." her eyes brimmed with tears, "All I wanted was to help my father and now I am condemned to death."

"You understand the law, Sefa," she told her, her smile sad. "I cannot change it."

"Please, I know you have a good heart - I know the queen has a good heart, too. Please don't leave me down there," she begged.

Gwen sighed, clenching her jaw. "The queen does have a good heart, but now she could be in severe danger because of your wrongdoings. If they do not return, you will be killed with or without the king or queen to pass it. Men have _died, _Sefa!" she barked.

"I know," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so... I'm so sorry. I did it for my father. It was the only thing he wanted from me. I told him I couldn't, but - I don't know, he... I wanted to make him happy, to please him," she explained.

The girl got to her. The unbelievable desperation in her eyes, the pain and remorse. Gwen was reminded of herself, doing anything she could to impress her friends, to make them - _her _- see that she was strong, that she wasn't weak or unworthy. "He used you," she stated. Merlynn never used her, but she understood Sefa's reasoning behind her treason.

"I know. I don't want to die, Gwen," she cried, burying her face into her arms.

"There is nothing I can do, Sefa." She had a plan. Merlynn forgive her. "The sentence stands."

Guards grabbed Sefa again and dragged out of the chamber, her mouth sputtering nonsense and pleads to reconsider her choices. Gwen couldn't do that - _no, _she had an idea, one that would, hopefully, work and make Merlynn proud.

"Perhaps you should think about this," Gaius suggested, his eyebrow poised in that familiar disappointing position. "The sentence _is _a harsh one. Sefa was naïve and foolish, but she doesn't deserve to _die." _

"Gaius, I agree. I don't want her dead, not really - I'm beyond angry that she betrayed us, and put Merlynn and Arthur in danger, but I know they will come back. My aim is to capture her father," she disclosed, setting the quill down. Gwen rubbed absently at the ink that stained her fingertips as she spoke, "He is the threat to Camelot, not Sefa. I'm hoping her plight will lure him here."

Gaius blinked in surprise. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked.

"Her predicament must remain genuine. Ruadan may have more spies here," she admitted in a hushed voice.

"And if he has any inkling of this, he will not come," he added in realisation. The physician's lips pursed, and he touched her hand gently. "This is a dangerous game, Gwen."

She hummed in agreement. "Wars cannot be won without risks."

"The execution is set, what happens if Ruadan doesn't come?" he questioned.

"Sefa is his daughter. I have to believe that he will," was all she said.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur was close to breaking free. He scratched with the blade over and over, weakening the binds as they walked. Her legs were close to giving in to the temptation to collapse, they had walked so long; Ragnor never relented, ordering his men to whip whoever dared to fall. But, the two of them would be free soon, so she accepted each whip she received from lagging behind, gritting her teeth.

A few minutes later, he gave her a nod.

Ragnor tied her to one of the main thresholds of the cart where the gate was; one pull, and it would completely collapse. Leaning forward, she let the rope loosen then, with a violent pull, she sent the whole gate crashing to the ground. Their supplies fell with it, crumbling and breaking beneath the force of the fall. Merlynn smirked and jumped back beside Arthur, shifting her arms so he could cut the ropes trapping her arms. The way they stood, Ragnor could not see their movements as he lead his horse to see the disaster.

"Who did this?" he roared. "Who?!"

Arthur motioned to her as she spoke up, "We need to rest."

He snarled at her, jaw locked, and slid his sword from his sheath. "Right - you can rest forever!" He swung, and she avoided his strike easily as Arthur threw a punch to his face.

She muttered a few quick words and sent a horse galloping away from the battle, while he tossed his knife into the stomach of one of the men. They grabbed what they could - Excalibur, a crossbow and a battle-axe - and took off without another word. Merlynn felt horrible leaving the rest of the innocent prisoners to Ragnor's wrath, but even she knew that she couldn't save everybody, no matter how hard she tried. Over hills and through valleys they ran, lost in the blinding white snow, until finally they reached a mighty gorge in the snow. It gaped, dark and endless, deep into the earth. If they were to fall in, there was no telling what was on the bottom - they would die before they reached it.

Arthur said nothing, but tossed his crossbow over to the other side. "You're joking," she breathed.

"Do you have a better solution?" he retorted with an easy grin. He ran back, and jumped. He skidded across the snow and turned to her, hand outstretched lest she were to fall when she jumped. "Come on. It'll be fine, okay? Just jump."

Merlynn took a deep, shaky breath. Slave traders were close now and if she took any longer then they would surely reach her. Making her decision, she stepped back a few paces and, without another thought, pushed her legs as fast as she could and leaped across the massive gap in the earth. She landed on her feet, hard, the ice cracking beneath her weight. Arthur took her hand and dragged her close to him, to safety, back in the small crevice where they could take out their enemies from afar. He used the crossbow to keep the slave traders from crossing.

"Make sure they can't get across," he said, nudging her toward the outstretched ice platform.

She slid down the hill and began to hack into the ice with her battle-axe. Merlynn felt Mordred before she saw him; Mordred, the boy with the blue eyes - the Druid boy. His magic was intertwined with hers, in much the same way that Morgana's was. It was like one large, interconnecting web - an absolute mess. Her magic called to his, she could feel it, and it welcomed hers, tangling and weaving. She grimaced, clenched her jaw and, with a flash of her eyes, the ice cracked and fell into the black abyss.

_Take that, Mordred, _she sneered.

He did nothing but stare at them with an odd look on his face; it wasn't frustration, nor anger, or revenge, but acceptance. What he did, chasing them, was purely a procedure, his expression told her. She was next to Arthur, and she watched him hesitate on pulling the trigger, then finally, lower the crossbow. Mordred turned, and walked away.

"Why spare his life?" she growled in frustration.

"He couldn't come after us," he defended.

Merlynn sent him a glare. "He was leading us to our deaths."

"He showed us kindness," he retorted.

"You should have killed him," she shouted, and jumped to her only he knew of his future, she mused. He wouldn't hesitate to kill Mordred, then. But she could not tell him - for someone to know their own future was a torture that she could not give another. If it was too much for her, it would absolutely destroy him. "You had the chance!"

"We escaped, didn't we?" Arthur took her hand. They certainly looked a sight; grubby, beaten and bloody, clothes torn, weapons in hand. Soldiers. "Come. We need to keep moving."

**[][][][][][]**

Gwaine's head ached horribly when he finally regained consciousness. He didn't know how long he had been out, but his surroundings were dark and he was sure it had been more than a day. The last thing he remembered was being attacked by two Saxons and beaten half to death; he still hurt, but he wasn't in as much agony as he would have expected. He was still in the same spot he was in when he was bashed, but _how? _A blue light gleamed at his side, and he almost jumped when his eyes laid upon the creature.

"You have nothing to fear," the creature said soothingly, impossibly long, glowing fingers touching his forehead. It's skin was soft and ran across his skin like water; he should have been afraid, but at it's touch, he calmed almost immediately, body slumping back into the dirt. "Your wounds are not yet healed."

"_You. _You saved me?" he asked in awe. Gwaine was sure it - he didn't know which gender to classify - had magic, but why would it save _him, _of all people. He was just a knight. "Thank you."

"I know that you are worthy of my help," it admitted. It looked almost human, but it was taller, leaner, thinner, it's head cone-shaped and unnatural.

He furrowed his brow, mouth agape. "I don't understand."

"You think kindness is the preserve of humans?"

"I've never seen a creature like you before," he told her, then winced. What if he insulted it?

Instead of being offended, the creature merely smiled and said, "No."

"Who are you?" Not _what, _but _who - _he needed a title instead of _it. _A gender, name... one of them was all he needed.

"I...have been called many things by the Children of Men. I am the last of my kind. Once we were revered by all, but those days are long gone." It sounded so sad, and his heart broke for the creature. "For hundreds of years, we were shunned and hunted till I found myself... alone. And now, even this last refuge is safe no more." It then shook its head and, with another brush of its fingers, he was on the ground again. "You are weak, fair knight. You must rest and heal yourself."

His eyes slid shut.

**[][][][][][]**

The fortress was a daunting place. Cold and black in the white snow, square towers and small windows - it was truly a fortress, one that could keep all things out, and all things in. Morgana had picked the perfect prison for her army of Saxons and the slaves that, no doubt, were sectioned beneath it. Merlynn gulped and grasped Arthur's hand once again.

Merlynn gulped, taking Arthur's hand in hers. "You know what they say, Merlynn," he mused, trying to comfort her, "appearances can be deceiving."

"Not in this case," she replied. She glanced behind them into the heavy snowstorm; their footsteps were hidden by the gush of snow and the night sky, but she knew that Ragnor and his menwere coming for them. "We're never going to get in there, you realize."

"There's always a way," he said, suddenly very smug.

They found themselves in a garbage shaft only minutes later. Merlynn almost gagged at the smell as she crawled through the rotten gunk and leftover food, wishing she could have just waited outside and let Arthur go in himself. Arthur was chuckling like a fool behind her every time she heaved or coughed, whispering mockeries at her feet. Higher and higher they climbed, travelling through remnants of scraps and mold. Luckily, because of the freezing temperature of Ismere, there were no flies to buzz around their faces and irritate her further.

"How did you talk me into this?" she growled, tugging herself up another inch.

"It's genius, Merlynn," he assured her.

Then, there was an odd churning sound above her from a gap in the shaft and a heap of food came plummeting down in front of her, splashing her face, hair and, possibly, going inside her tunic. Merlynn almost vomited then and there as she was assaulted by, what appeared to be, rotten vegetables. "Genius," she hissed, grabbed a handful of the slop, and threw it back at a laughing Arthur. "I hate you."

"You've got a bit of, um... carrot in your hair," he said simply, a half-amused, half-disgusted grin on his face, motioning to a spot near her temple. "At least, I hope it's carrot," he added just to tease her.

"I will throw up on you in a second if you keep on laughing, you _clotpole," _she snapped, and pulled herself over the mess. Merlynn made sure, once she was above the main pile, that she shove her feet backwards to send the food back into Arthur's face.

"Hey!" he shouted, coughing.

Merlynn grinned to herself, "Oops. My foot slipped."

She finally saw a flicker of light above them, the exit just inches from her place in the shaft; she whooped in joy and reached out with slippery fingers to the top of the garbage shaft. Merlynn dragged herself out with a grunt and toppled to the ground, gasping with relief at the scent of fresh air. She heard her husband come through the latch and fall beside her, arm flopping across her stomach.

"Let's never do that again," she panted.

"I agree," he groaned, wiping his face free of what he _hoped _was mushrooms. Arthur pulled himself up to his feet and tugged her up with him, then began to brush her down from head to toe, lingering on her waist and hips. "I'd kiss you, but..." he motioned to her food tangled hair and stained face with a grimace.

Merlynn swiped the back of her hand over the mess, rolling her eyes at his behaviour. She promptly removed herself from him and moved toward a 'window', which was, essentially, just a square cut in the stone castle. Below them was the courtyard; Saxons guarded the area, whacking whips and their swords into the bare backs of men as they carried large rocks from a wagon. It was set on a track, which led into the depths of the fortress.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"For what?"

Arthur took her hand, the other occupied with the double-edged axe, and dragged her off in the direction of the stairs. "Our carriage awaits."

The two of them crept over to the empty wagon without much notice of the Saxons. As they reached the brim of the wagon, one of the slaves caught Merlynn's eye; she recognised him as one of their knights - Charles. He nodded at them, a small grin on his dirty face, and lifted a blanket up with enough vigour to conceal them as they lifted themselves in with the disguise of the other slaves to keep them from being seen. Then, they were pushed down into the depths of the caves, the sounds of iron hitting stone and the grunts of the slaves surrounding them.

Once the wagon stopped, Charles slapped the wagon twice and went off to continue his duties as slave while the two clambered out from beneath their hiding spot. Merlynn, with Arthur at her wrist, raced behind the rocks and through tunnels until they were at the top of the cave, watching the men below mine deeper into the rocks in search of the Diamair.

"The place is crawling with Saxons," she groaned, raking her fingers through her hair. It was tangled, for the first time in what seemed like forever; she almost smiled at the memory of her old, knotted mess of hair.

"We'd better make sure we blend in, then," he suggested and pressed a hard kiss to her temple.

Arthur got to his feet and rushed off before she could say another word. Rolling her eyes, she was at his heels in seconds. The Saxons appeared to patrol the caves in pairs, which made sneaking through much easier for them - it also gave them a chance to steal their clothing to camouflage themselves enough to not be detected. Merlynn was pushed back into the shadows as two came their way, and Arthur moved into the middle of the tunnel. Both men noticed him quickly, and rushed at him with their short blades drawn; he punched one, and used the butt of his sword to knock the soldier out.

As he moved to do the same with the other, Merlynn's double-edged axe came from nowhere, it seemed, and lodged itself into the back of the Saxon's head. She was panting, her grip tight on the weapon; pressing her foot into the Saxon's side, she removed the axe with a repulsive squelching sound and let it rest at her hip as she let the body fall. Arthur gaped at her.

"What?" she scoffed, giving him a look. "We can't go around saving our men by knocking them unconscious."

He didn't reply, bur rather took his unconscious opponent by the legs to drag him off into the shadows to change into his tunic and armour. Merlynn rolled her eyes and did the same, sliding the fur coat from the man's person and throwing it, and the surcoat, over her body. She didn't have the time or patience to mourn over the dead body of the random Saxon before her; with a press of her foot, she sent the body down into a crevice, hidden from all who walked past. Her hair, up in it's messy rendition of a maid's bun, kept her from being recognised as a woman, if any were to peer close enough.

The first Camelot knight they found was Percival. He looked rather fine for someone who was trapped in the caves for weeks, but tell-tale signs of exhaustion lingered on his shoulders and arms as he lifted small boulders into a wagon nearby. Merlynn gave a little grin to Arthur and snuck up behind the man then, with a chuckle, grabbed him forcefully by the shoulder. The large knight swung around to shout at the 'Saxon' who put his hands on him, but froze at the site of her. Then, with a small whoop of joy, lifted her up in his arms and gave her a quick squeeze.

"Merlynn!" he cheered, kissing her on the temple. Once she was back on her feet, he turned to Arthur and clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, a wide grin on his face.

"Didn't think we'd leave you here, did you?" Arthur smiled. "Where are the others?"

"They're... scattered around," he answered with a grimace.

"Gwaine?" she asked hopefully.

Percival shrugged, face dropping. "Saw him a couple of days ago, but..."

"See if you can use it to find some more," Arthur said, handing him his broadsword with a short, quick smile.

"Arthur," her hands tugged on the bottom of his tunic as she noticed a few Saxons in the distance heading their way, whipping and spitting orders at the slaves. He nodded, and squeezed Percival's shoulders.

"Do what you can to free the others," he announced abruptly, "we'll find Gwaine."

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred was beyond terrified as he was taken into Morgana's bedchamber - he could not call her a 'Lady'' any more, for she would strike the man who dared call her by her old name. Now she was Morgana, High Priestess of the Isle, creature of the Old Religion, a tainted shadow of what she once was. He cherished her for her light, her compassion and kindness. She was hatred and bitterness in it's purest form; twisted and dark, she smiled at him, her eyes - which, once, were the brightest shade of green - were crazed and twinkling with something that was not laughter.

"I feared you were dead," said Morgana as she took a bright red apple in her bony hand. He did nothing but bite deeper into the chicken wings she had, somehow, managed to procure. Mordred didn't complain; he had given his last rations to Emrys, so his stomach had ached for two nights before they arrived at the fortress. "It is dangerous for those of us with magic."

"It's not been easy," he admitted, setting the leftover bones down on his plate, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"For any of us," she mused bitterly. She pulled a blade from her belt and sliced into the apple, using the blunt of the knife to pop the sweet fruit in her mouth. He wondered, then, how she had gotten such fresh fruit in an ice fortress like Ismere.

Mordred could only agree. "Sorcery frightens people. Even some of those who claim to support it," his own voice turned sour.

"You see a lot," she remarked.

"I've learnt to - _I've had to." _Her mad eyes turned sad at his words, her cracked lips turned down at the edges. "If I was not to be burnt at the stake or exploited for another man's gain."

She smirked in a way that was so unlike the Morgana he used to know. "Attitudes will change soon. The Old Religion will reign once more, once Arthur and his _kind _are cleansed from the earth," her eyes sparked again, alight with her malicious lust.

He pursed his lips slightly; to him, Arthur was a good man - a bit naïve, but a good man - who thought with nothing but compassion and what was best for him and his people. 'His kind', he knew, meant Emrys. _A woman like Emrys, _he thought, _could ne__ver leave the earth. She is ingrained into the soil, a part of all aspects of it. _She could never be 'cleansed'. "You know... we had Arthur in our grasp?" he said suddenly, and regretted it. But he had to continue, "He escaped."

The apple groaned beneath her fingers as she clenched it tight, "You let...him _go?" _

"He got away," he said. The words slipped out of his mouth before and now, he had backed himself in a painful corner, a High Priestess of the Old Religion staring him down. He knew when someone of greater power was around him; it was the very same feeling he got when he was in Emrys' presence, though that was different. This power spat and squirmed like a distressed cat, unpredictable and dangerous.

"How?" her voice shook, as did the windows that surrounded them. He breathed through his nose to keep himself from running. "Who let him go?"

"It... was an accident," he told her, trying to calm her - appease her.

Morgana let out a small shriek, and tossed her apple away from them. Her chair skidded across the rotted stone beneath their feet as she leapt up, palms slamming into the table; she was a bull, then, a beast, nostrils flaring, breath leaving her cracked lips in fierce pants. "Kill him!" she roared. "That's all they had to do! I am a High Priestess -"

"Morgana."

" - and yet he continues to defy me!"

"Calm yourself," he muttered, also standing.

"I want his annihilation, Mordred. I want his head on a spike and I want to see crows feast on his eyes -" she was rambling by this point, crazed and barely coherent and so very angry. She would forever be cursed with her bitter hatred, he knew. This was not the way magic was to be used, he thought, to kill, to be twisted and tormented into something so dark and evil that it, in turn, poisons the person that wields it.

"Mor -"

It was the warning bell that interrupted him. Made him pause and, as he looked at Morgana, he stared at the slow smirk dawning on her lips. "Arthur..." she whispered, malice and glee on her face.

The time had come.

* * *

So, that was that chapter. The second part should be up next week! Christmas is coming soon, but everything should be in it's normal schedule once school finishes! :)

**Natasya Ivashkov: **It's not that he doesn't accept her, it's just that he doesn't particularly enjoy the fact that she has magic - he's had to grow up with Uther constantly telling him how evil magic was, how horrible; sure, he believes otherwise but only sometimes. Both of his parents have been killed by magic and it's been ingrained into his head that magic is horrible. He'll come to accept her over time.

**narnia365: **thank you! c: and I agree, but I'm annoyed that there wasn't like a scene between all of them - I get it, she couldn't control what she was doing, but she still tried to kill Arthur and Merlin and omfg skjfkjfbhkbj

**intensewhatever: **I'm trying to make it my own as much as possible, without straying completely from the storyline (as of yet, anyway). Gwen's storyline is a slight bit tedious and annoying, ugh, but now that she's good it's not going to be as irritating.

**ariah23: **awh, I love you so much like omg

**Dhragonis-Slytherin: **I'm going to see what happens in the end, but I'm hoping there's a stronger connection between them than what is going on in the series. And, haha thanks!

**Rat3000: **oh god, sorry that I snapped. It wasn't meant offensively, it just that the question had been asked a thousand times and I just wanted to address it publicly; I had a discussion with my friend and she found a few bits where it could have been misconstrued as pregnancy, but she's not, and yeah. So sorry for making you upset - so many things were going on then and just gahhh.

**xofreethelightox:**OH MY GOODNESS, THANK YOU! I would love to give him romance, but right now I can't! Too much madness :S But I promise to talk to you when I decide to c; akfjkfgjg i'm glad you liked the twist~

**Quwer: **uh, yeah idk if you got my private message, but yeah the inconsistences are there because I haven't written the next chapter yet. c:

Hope you liked it! Please tell me what you thought x


	4. Arthur's Bane: Old Friends

**Okay, so omfg i'm sorry for such a late update - i usually do it every Sunday so I was hoping for that but I was, admittedly, sort of drunk so I couldn't really get the effort into uploading or else it would be like this "i insn and ahrthur kithshsed ermlyin on hhthe lips" because that's how i type when i'm intoxicated~  
**

**ANYWAY, so not as many reviews for last chapter, but that's okay i guess. it's a new story and sometimes people lose interest and that's coolio. Thank for for all you guys for continuing to read and enjoy this c:  
**

**CHAPTER 4 - ARTHUR'S BANE: PART 2**

_"You were cold as the blood through your bones_  
_ And the light which led us from our chosen homes_  
_ Well I was lost."_

- 'Below my Feet' by Mumford & Sons._  
_

* * *

Gwaine was shaken awake by the blue creature to the sounds of warning bells in the distance. Naught a word was said between them, but they both understood what was happening; he smiled, then, at the realisation of it all. All he could think of was Merlynn - _Queen _Merlynn - and her husband. They had come for him, for all of them, as he had always known they would. Footsteps padded across the floor toward them from the entrance of their hiding spot, and he lightly pushed the creature back, reassuring him, her - _them _- that they would be safe. He lifted his fallen sword and crept over to the rock that concealed them, listening to the sounds of the intruders coming toward them. Two, from what he could hear. As they loomed closer to the spot where he stood, he swung around and shouted as he slammed his sword down.

It was blocked by a firm hand wrapping around his arm, preventing the sword from lowering any further. Arthur's amused face was right below the blade's sharp edge, eyebrow raised. "Trust you not to be doing any work," he remarked.

Gwaine could only laugh. "It's about time!" he said, grinning. He turned toward the creature that had saved him; with him standing, the creature was at least nine feet tall, and too slim for any human anatomy. "Don't worry, they're friends. Good friends." It merely shook it's head and clambered away, up into another hidden section of the cave that would have taken much longer to climb for a normal sized human.

"What was that?" the king asked, shocked.

"I'm not exactly sure. But I owe it my life," he admitted, shaking up his hair. Gwaine saw Merlynn standing a few feet away, smiling at him; he returned it, and pushed past Arthur to lift her high up in his arms, kissing her head with a loud smack. She laughed at his behaviour, playfully pushing and squirming away from him, feet kicking against his shins. He set her down and hugged her again; life was torture without her in his life, no matter what role he had to play to be a part of it. She was his best and first friend, and he cared more about her than his own brothers, the knights.

"Come on, let's not dilly-dally," Arthur announced abruptly, and took her hand, pulling her away from him. Even now, after he had truly taken her as his, he was still not convinced his feelings were platonic. He chuckled and wandered behind them, out from their hiding spot and into the main working area, where he remembered being beaten and forced to toil and mine for hours.

"Something is wrong," he heard Merlynn mutter as they entered another tunnel. "The Saxons - where have they all gone?"

"First there are too many, now there aren't enough. Are you ever happy?" Arthur retorted, and sent her a teasing grin. She rolled her eyes and let go of his hand, yet not unkindly; she lagged behind, letting him pass, eyes focused on a place in the distance.

Merlynn froze, then, stance rigid. "What was that?"

"What?" Gwaine asked. He watched her husband roll his eyes, but he knew better than to laugh at her gut; her gut had kept him - all of them - alive countless times. She moved ahead of them in a daze, her feet barely touching the ground. There was fear on her face, fear and concern. His grip tightened on the weapon in his hand.

Then, he heard it. They all did. A dull roar echoed through the narrow shaft and warm air washed over his face, blowing his hair back from his face. Arthur stumbled back alongside him, but not once did the queen move. She remained where she stood, staring straight ahead into the tunnel as if she could see the mysterious thing.

"Feel the wind," she mumbled.

"That wasn't the wind," he said, snatching her arm.

He saw the thing, a large, grey-ish blur, charge at them from the other end of the tunnel, listened as it roared and panted. Arthur grabbed her by the collar and tossed her behind them, then he slung Gwaine's arm over his shoulder to help him run, the torch forgotten on the ground. There was a crevice nearby, a hiding spot for them - Merlynn shoved the both of them inside and jumped in with them in a tangled mess of arms and legs as the creature raced passed them with another shout. As it disappeared around the corner, Gwaine lifted himself up, ignoring the warm weight that rested atop his chest.

"Was that what I think it was?" he breathed, mouth agape.

Arthur, too, sat up as Merlynn got to her feet. "Where did Morgana get a _dragon?" _he barked in disbelief.

"I've no idea," she said, an odd look on her face. She turned to them; she looked quite determined, jaw set, eyes ablaze with something he could not decipher. "Get Gwaine back to Percival," she demanded. "I'll lure the dragon the other way."

She was grabbed by the back of the collar again by Arthur, who had long since pulled himself up. "Merlynn, you've done some stupid things in the past, but nothing this stupid," he argued. Then, she turned to him and, as if Gwaine wasn't in the room, shared a long, lingering glance; it wasn't one of romance, no, but of understanding. Arthur said nothing, but released her collar and clenched her jaw. She sent a smile to him, and Gwaine, then raced off after the beast.

"What was that about?" he inquired.

He sighed. "Nothing. I'm going after her, though. Fat chance I'm leaving her alone with that dragon."

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn hadn't expected to see Aithusa again. Some nights, she called for her, beckoning her to their field where they had once met. But, she never came, nor did she even get a call back. It was as though she had disappeared - if Aithusa died, Merlynn knew she would feel it. Aithusa was _hers; _what was she doing with Morgana, of all people? The dragon was huddled in the corner when she reached her, and she found herself with a loss of breath. Aithusa had once been a healthy creature, with thick muscle and a strong belly; now, she was horribly deformed, mutilated by something, whether it loss of food or, perhaps, torture.

"Aithusa," she gasped, tears stinging her eyes. Her Aithusa had her head low, broken and jagged claws digging into the earth as if she would bring her harm. With a snarl, she breathed fire at her, but Merlynn deflected it easily. "_Nu__n de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!" _

A Dragontamer's word was law over the dragon they wielded, and Aithusa was submissive beneath her orders, whimpering like a child would when punished. She crouched low, reaching out toward the beasts head, which was pulled tight across her skeleton - she was but four years old and the size of a Wyvern, but she was emaciated and sickly. As her fingers made contact, she whimpered and nestled close to her master. "What happened?_ Who did this to you?" _

A pause, then Aithusa began to grumble a series of things; it was as though she was trying to reply, but it did not make sense. Kilgharrah spoke in perfect English, but Aithusa's words were like a childs, incoherent and nonsensical.

"What does that mean?" The dragon shook her head and crawled back a little, further away from Merlynn's touch. "You can't speak," she whispered in realisation.

"Merlynn!" Arthur shouted in the distance.

"Go!" she hissed, watching Aithusa glance at the sound of his voice, then back at her. Merlynn didn't want her to leave as much as she did, but there was nothing she could do. She made a noise again, trying to tell her _something. _"_Ithi!" _

Aithusa ran, then, clambering up and away from their place. She wept freely, not caring if he saw her sobbing over the dragon, not caring that she could be attacked by a Saxon any second. After a few moments, she knew that she was left alone in the section of the cave system. All she thought of was Aithusa, of what sort of punishment she had been put through to become what she was - had Morgana tortured her? The thought made her breath sharply through her nose and her nails to dig deep into her thighs.

She was going to _kill _Morgana the next time they fought. Merlynn had to search for Arthur but, if she were to run into Morgana, secrets be damned. For hurting Aithusa, she deserved the most horrible pain imaginable. She raked her fingers through her hair and raced off in the direction of Arthur's voice; knowing him, he had deserted Gwaine to find Percival himself and went on a mad hunt for her. He could never trust her, could he?

Rolling her eyes, she searched, searched and searched until she could hear him shouting, "And yet with all that, you choose to do nothing but hate!"

"Uther taught me well," Morgana's voice flowed like silk toward her. "Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon."

Merlynn's legs pushed faster and faster toward them, feeling Morgana's - and, to her surprise, Mordred's - magic buzzing in the room ahead. She screamed her husband's name, hoping that, in the next few moments, Morgana would be distracted enough by her voice enough to keep him alive until she arrived. As she reached the chamber where they all stood, she was tossed back by a hidden force, sent soaring into a large boulder behind her. She slumped against the rock, ears buzzing, head throbbing, vision blurred as though she was staring through a foggy window.

"Morgana...Please..."

"Don't speak, _dear brother," _Morgana was mocking him. "It's too late. _Hine -" _she cut off with an odd, broken wail. Merlynn opened her eyes, then, pushing through the urge to sleep to see what had happened. She saw Mordred, a look of resigned determination on his face, his blade buried deep in her side. "Mordred?"

Mordred slid the knife out and left her to collapse on the ground; he didn't spare Merlynn a glance, only wrapped Arthur' arm around his shoulder and helped him out of the cave. She groaned and weakly tried to call out to him, but not a sound left her parched mouth; defeated, she returned to the rock and rest against it. Morgana was but a few feet away, though she did not move once. She took a gasping breath, and tried to push herself up with her hands, but found her strength diminished by the blow she gained from the boulder.

A smooth hand touched her forehead and brushed her matted hair back. It was the blue creature that had run away from them before; now, she could feel its magic, pulsing and frayed at the edges, far more powerful than anything else. More than Morgana, than her own, than of any Druid or dragon she had ever come in contact with. This was the most powerful creature she had ever met. It was thin, too thin, and so tall with a coned head.

"_Ic the thurhaele thinu licsar_," it uttered in a scratched voice, which sounded slightly feminine. "Emrys. Lie still." Merlynn felt her wounds, the throb in her head, diminish beneath the creature's touch, and she gaped at it. "Much blood has been shed this day and all for something few wise men would ever want."

"You mean the Diamair?" she groaned. "Morgana never found it?"

"And she never will."

It was then that she knew. Merlynn had the sudden urge to _bow _before the creature, as she knew that she was in the presence of something far more superior than she could ever be. She was a queen and Emrys, but she could have been a speck of dirt in comparison to this. "Because it is you," she breathed, shifting so her weight was placed on her forearm. She stared at the Diamair with something akin to awe. "You are the Key to all knowledge?" The Diamair nodded; she could feel tears, uncontrolled and sudden, swell at the thought. "At times, _I _feel the weight of my destiny crushing me, but that is nothing to what you carry. I'm... so very sorry."

"It is both a blessing and... a curse," even her voice portrayed how old she - Merlynn guessed it was a _she,_ but didn't want to be mistaken - truly was. The Diamair paused, and smiled at her. "Is there anything you wish to ask me?"

Merlynn was tempted beyond belief to ask she if, in the end, her husband died; though, she knew that a man, or woman, who knew the fate of themselves or someone they cared for, would be tormented with it until it happened. Handling the thought of the Vates vision was enough, but to know what lay ahead of Arthur's destiny would be too much. "No," she denied, shifting so she was sitting upright. "I don't think it would be very smart."

"You are wise, Emrys. Your wisdom will live long in the minds to men," she said, touching her cheek in a gesture of friendship.

A sudden thought came to her, and she was bold enough to touch the Diamair's hand. "Well, there is one question. If Mordred is not Arthur's Bane, then, who is?"

Her hand retracted from Merlynn's face and, then, the creature seemed almost sad as she told her, "Himself."

"Oh." She knew what _that _meant, but said nothing else about it. "Diamair -"

"I had a name, before I became the last of my kind. It was Euchdag," she admitted.

Merlynn grinned; the honor of it, to have the creature's true name, was surely something that was not bestowed upon many. "That's a lovely name," she remarked. "You know, if you do not want to stay in this fortress any longer, once all the knights return, I could come back and retrieve you, take you back to Camelot. There is a cave below the kingdom; it's safe, and not many know how to get there."

The Diamair - _Euchdag - _did not look surprised at the offer but, she guessed, being the Key to all knowledge gave her the advantage of knowing the rest of their conversation. "It would be nice to not be alone."

"I promise you that, once this is all over, I will try and find a way to bring you back to Camelot. Nobody should be alone," she said, squeezing her hand.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred watched his Emrys. It was all he could seem to do now as he sat with the king and his knights. There was no doubt that she didn't trust him, not one single bit. The intensity of her distrust was addicting, to see her glance at him out of the corner of her eye, riddled with suspicion and anger and _fear. _Her fear was strong, he noticed, as after Emrys would look at him, she'd turn her gaze to Arthur and then return her attention back. He was not entirely sure _why _she feared him, though - he hadn't done anything to make her hate him, hadn't given any indication that he would harm Arthur. The worst he'd done was stand beside Ragnor as the fool bandit cut them down, and even then he protected them.

_No doubt that getting caught in the trap was Emrys' doing, _he thought to himself, watching with a flicker of amusement as she stumbled over a hidden rock in the depths of the snow. She hadn't spoken to him since she crawled out from Ismere and saw him among them, unharmed but distressed. The worst he had gotten since they began their journey back to Camelot were harsh glares and clenched teeth and barely concealed rage which he was all too pleased by. He had long since admitted his craving for her - everything about her, from her rage, to her love, affection, hatred, disgust... everything that focused on him. He wanted her to pay attention to him always.

He was in love with her long before he knew what love was and, when he was old enough, he realized that his consuming thoughts of her scent and her comfort and her warmth was a deep need for her. _His _Emrys. The last time he saw her he had promised to exact revenge on her and, for a little while, he was angry but then he was only sad. Sad because she would hate him, hate him forever. Alongside the sadness was satisfaction - she would be thinking of him often, his name a breathy whisper of her thoughts and a constant in her dreams.

Emrys had changed since he last saw her. Her eyes were old, older than they were when he first caught sight of them as a boy. He did not deny that it was her wisdom that made her all the more enticing, but it was also the mischief and youth that he saw hidden beneath that, even when he was able to catch her gaze. However, she had yet to stare at him again with kindness and soft promises of protection and love, though he would strive to regain it as he was now a knight of Camelot. After saving Arthur, the good king asked him if he wanted something in return for his assistance, and it was the first thought - a place in Camelot, a place by Emrys' side. The ceremony would begin once they got back, but the men were already bringing him into their group.

She stared at the men with the expression he craved... she cared for them, especially the brawny one and the smaller man with the scruffy hair, whom he discovered were Percival and Gwaine. His jealousy arose when she was around them, but he managed to conceal it with little smirks in her direction and 'accidental' brushes against her arm or leg. Her attention, the flare of her nostrils and the small tightening of her lips, it made his insides flutter as her suspicious eyes turned on him from time to time. He wished for her to eye him again in wonder, but he could not deny that her negative emotion was so much stronger, held far more passion than ever.

"Oi, Merlynn!" Gwaine shouted, gaining her attention. They stole horses from the Saxons and the animals were all too willing to escape the cold and isolating depths of the stables. She was ahead of him, near Mordred who managed to keep a few paces behind to keep an eye on her. He watched her turn to face Gwaine at the mention of her other name, the name her mother called her, though it was not her true name. It was always Emrys. However, she did not seem to mind her first title, and Gwaine didn't seem inclined to call her by 'queen' or 'your highness' though, on occasion since their ride back, he heard a few teasing honorable titles exchanged between them.

"What do you want?" she retorted, though her voice was not unkind. He didn't need to see her face to know that her eyes were sparkling and there was a grin on her face. Emrys had a fondness for the noble knight, from what he could see, and the man certainly cared for her. Gwaine was in love with his Emrys and, while Mordred was a little jealous - a little jealous was certainly an understatement - he understood. The extent of her magic brought with her an aura which drew all creatures, from humans to animals to creatures of magic, closer to her, made them want to be around her. She was _his_. He claimed her when their minds first connected, though at that age he had no idea what his feelings meant.

"Slow down a little, will you? Enjoy the snow - hey, I'll even teach you how to make a snow angel," he said, adding a little saucy wink at the end. A giggle passed Emrys' lips, one that he had never heard before, and she shook her head in amusement.

Mordred clenched his jaw and nudged the horse closer to her - he needed her attention on him again, her anger and her irritation. Emrys must have felt the horse's breath at her knee as she turned to face him. Immediately, her smile dropped and her nostrils flared. Her distrust and her anger was a drug to him, and he did everything in his power to provoke her. A little cloud left her mouth as she huffed at him, straightened her shoulders and turned away. Her bared skin had turned bright red from the cold, and the rest of her flesh was almost white. She was obviously not dressed for the harsh weather that was a commonplace in the North.

"Give the kid a break," Gwaine teased her, catching up to them and poking her gently with his finger. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

Even Mordred smirked at that, though it darkened at the mention of him being a 'kid'. He was no _kid, _and he didn't want Emrys to think so - certainly not Emrys. He wanted her to think of him as the man that he was, no longer a boy; he would prefer her to think him a monster than a _child. _Emrys pursed her lips then blew out another puff of steam, and he knew she wanted to reply with a, _if only you_ knew, but she didn't. His promise to her when she was among the bandits obviously kept a hold over her words and her actions. And, though Gwaine continued to eye him with curiosity, he knew he had gained his trust after defying Morgana to keep the king safe.

His loyalties changed. The thought crossed his mind when he first saw Morgana in all her madness. She was plagued by it, disfigured and ugly by the darkness she consumed into her every being. He remembered the girl in her silk dresses and long, glossy curls and a smile that was blinded with affection. How different she was now, dressed in her tight, black gown with hair like a robin's nest, pinned back to show her ghostly complexion and mad grin, even as she saw him for the first time. Mordred had to force that smile on his face to console her, to weave her into his plans once again - he had once thought her beautiful, though now he saw her for nothing but a shadow of what she had been.

Morgana had forgotten the power of love and of magic, but Arthur... he was still held-fast in his belief of honor and loyalty and it was an addition to why he decided to betray her. He didn't make his decision until he heard her scream Arthur's name and the mad High Priestess had thrown her against the wall - he reacted without thinking, and stabbed deep into her side. Mordred didn't kill her, though he probably should have. Merlynn was the catalyst to his change in plans. His original plan was to gain Arthur's trust and weave his way deep within the kingdom, then he would take it from the inside out. And now, the end step was diminished, swallowed by his thoughts of Emrys.

He wanted to keep her safe, keep her by his side. If he had to stay in Camelot, then he shall. He spent far too much time away from her, countless years of plotting and planning (which all went to nothing in the end), and all he wanted was to stay by her. Even if she was not his romantically, though it was what he wanted, he would take her any way she wanted - as a friend, or brother, or companion.

"Whatever, Gwaine. When we stop, want to make the snow angel with me?" she asked, turning her attention sorely on Gwaine, barely even giving Mordred recognition while he bristled beside her. _No, look at me, look at me... don't look at him, look at me! _

Later that evening, he spotted her. Everyone else was asleep except for himself and for Emrys. She removed herself from her post near Arthur, though he knew she was never asleep in the first place, and sat on the outskirts of the group. It wasn't as windy as it had been during the day, but it was absolutely freezing - even he could feel the icy sting of the cold through his layers of clothing. No doubt she was positively frozen beneath her thin tunic and coat. Mordred could see that she was shaking, even through her blanket. The snow was so white, so clear and so _breathtaking _in the large patch of snow where they had stopped to rest for the evening.

"It's cold," he said, though he cursed himself for uttering the words. That was a dumb thing to say, an obvious statement that would no doubt be retorted by his Emrys with a sarcastic remark.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," she bit out. It didn't surprise him at all, her comment, and all it did was make him smile. He took a seat beside her and saw what she was seeing - from where she sat, huddled on a rock protruding from the snow, he could see the valleys and mountains in the distance, dusted with white. The North was rarely green, and faced harsh winters. Wolves were the dominant species - well, they were until Morgana came and began to assert her power in Ismere.

Mordred took a good look at Emrys, _really _looked at her. When he first saw her as a boy, she was too thin with long fingers and big ears and such an odd face - now, that he was able to see her again, he saw the changes in her. Her ears were still slightly out of proportion with her face and clothes were a bit baggy on her, but now she looked so tired and so weak with dark bags beneath her eyes and a tremor in her fingers. Did she ever sleep... better yet, did she eat? He had heard her complain about food a few times, but she handed her rations to Arthur and said nothing more. When he took them to Ismere she didn't sleep, and he wasn't sure how long it had been since she got any at all - consistent, or not. She was a queen, wasn't she? A queen should be fed more, be more replenished and healthy.

In addition to the lack of sufficient sleep and food, she was also sitting out in the cold. Freezing to death. The thought made him grit his teeth. "Damn it, Emrys," he hissed, unwrapping his cowl and shoving it over her head. "You're such an idiot."

"Hey!" she protested weakly, though she didn't make a motion to deny his offer. Mordred lifted his leather hood to protect him from the cold and sent her a little smile; she looked wonderful in his cowl, nothing but her nose and eyes visible beneath the dark material, the blue almost illuminated by the contrast in color.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked. He hadn't meant for the words to escape him, but he couldn't let it go now. "I don't intend to bring any harm to yourself, or to Arthur, and I've never done anything to hurt either of you."

She scoffed, but said, "Good, because I'll kill any man, woman or _child _who dares to try and lay a finger on him." Her loyalty astounded him; the destiny that unfolded to him as a boy, _her _destiny, changed her. She was sworn to protect Arthur, her husband and love, but he wondered on what sense, how, she fell in love. Through duty, through loyalty, or through natural compassion?

Mordred winced at the emphasis she used on the word 'child'. "I am no child anymore, Emrys." He stole her hands from beneath her jacket and interlocked his gloved fingers with her cold ones, tugging them closer to his warm body. She was married, but she was cold and he was so much warmer and he just wanted to _touch _her. Emrys didn't retract herself from him, instead clenching her jaw and glaring at their contact.

"You may not look like a boy, but you are still a child," he didn't need to look at her to know she was smirking. Her nails dug into the material of his gloves gently, and she shuffled closer; whether it was a conscious decision or not, he still smiled a little. "Why... why did you stab Morgana? I thought you two were allies."

"We once were," he admitted. Mordred began to play with her fingers, not to warm them but just _because. _"There was a time where I considered her one of my greatest allies, but that was because you refused to help us. Now... I don't want to be around her any more than you do. She has been poisoned far too much by her hatred to see the point of magic, or everything that's important. She's lost her sense of honor and love and Arthur seems to have all of that. My loyalty is genuine, Emrys."

"Is that why you stabbed her?"

"Yes...and no." He hesitated, before he said, "She hurt you." And it was the truth. The sudden burst of energy Morgana used to toss Emrys against the wall was enough to severely damage her back or head if she was thrown incorrectly. His blade was already drawn, ready to defend if needed but... then he heard Emrys let out a little whimper and he saw red. He didn't know that he had even stabbed her until the High Priestess turned to him with her wide, icy eyes, so full of fear and sorrow and hatred before she collapsed.

Emrys tensed in his hands and he glanced up to see her staring at him with disbelief. "I - I don't..."

"Emrys, I -" he cleared his throat.

"You've never called me Merlynn," she said all of a sudden, brows furrowed. "Not once, I think. Why?"

"I grew up learning of you. Before I met you, I knew more about you than myself." He leaned in close so she could hear him, forehead dangerously close to hers. Their visible breaths of air mingled together as he spoke. "You were a dream to my people. We all wished to serve the child of the Old Religion, to submit to the great and powerful Emrys, the wise woman who would save those who were of a magic descent. The Druids are taught about you from the moment they are old enough to speak the Old Religion. I only knew you as Emrys."

She looked so astonished, and it didn't surprise him. It would certainly come as a shock to him if he discovered that there were books written about him, that there were studies based around him. "But... how did you know it was me?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I called for whoever listened and then your mind matched mine and we connected. Our paths were intertwined from the moment you heard my cry for help," Mordred told her. Emrys swallowed thickly. "That was when I knew that you were Emrys - I dreamed of what you would look like."

"Oh?"

"In fact, for a little while I thought you'd be some sort of old hag," he managed to get a small laugh out of her.

"I've been an old hag before. It's not too great, being old," she confessed with the hint of a grin on her face. They were so close, now, facing each other, legs and heads almost touching, hands intertwined at his chest. He felt...content, even if the only reason she was near him was because he forced her too. "I had to. Uther was dying, and... it was the only thing I could think of."

Mordred furrowed his brow. "You turned into an old woman to save Uther Pendragon?"

A bitter smile formed on her lips as she replied, "I tried. Arthur... I wasn't going to let his father die. It - it wouldn't have ended well, and my plan would've worked if Morgana's right-hand man hadn't intervened."

"You risked your life for Arthur?" it was more of a statement than a question, if he was to be honest with himself.

"It's all I've done since I first met him," she told him wryly. "Protecting him is engrained in my very soul now." And she was willing, now, to get herself killed just to keep him safe - marriage, _love, _be damned. Arthur was more happy to sacrifice himself for the good of his people, for her protection. They were both going to kill each other in the end.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred, a knight of Camelot.

It was unexpected, indeed. Not his original plan, but a good one nonetheless; though even he was aware that there was no alternate motive behind his sudden transition. It was all about Emrys. Arthur asked him what he wanted, and he was ever so tempted to tell him but, instead, he insisted on serving the king of Camelot as a knight. He was a young man, but he was quick and strong and stealthy. The king already seemed to be keen of him already, so it only meant him becoming closer to Emrys - to _Merlynn, _as he had to address her in the presence of others.

She was held up on a pedestal so high, even for a queen. Each man, woman and child stared with such gentle care, such respect and loyalty; she graced them with the same kindness, he noted, on their ride in. She smiled and waved and even kissed a red-haired girl on her flour-dusted cheek as she was drawn close. Emrys - _Merlynn - _had been a servant before all of this and, to be queen, meant that there was a break in tradition, one that the people seemed to be more than happy to comply to. The knights, too, held tenderness in their eyes and their movements as they flanked her to the throne room for the knighting ceremony.

_His _knighting ceremony.

"Arise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot," Arthur declared as the ceremonial sword was placed delicately on either one of his shoulders. He was under the eyes of all; the knights, the people, his Emrys. She had her jaw locked, tongue held between pink lips to keep from shouting. Mordred smiled at her secretly, and took delight in the rage in her eyes, barely concealed with her regal appearance.

He was _excited _to become a knight. To be a knight of Camelot was one of the most noble titles a man could ever have, and to have Arthur Pendragon as a ruler was even a greater honour. Mordred got to his feet and bowed at his king; the entire hall was dismissed, then, with that final address. The king and queen walked out first with their servants, hand in hand, and then he was given the chance to follow quickly after. Mordred was alone in the antechamber and he smiled, reaching to unbuckle his crimson cloak as he walked to the window.

The steel was cool beneath his fingers, but not as cold as the voice that he heard soon after. "Here, let me help you with that." Soft, yet rough fingers lightly touched his before her warm arms wrapped around his shoulders to touch the clasp. Shivers threatened to break through as his eyes started to roll back into his head from her touch; it was euphoric, her scent, enveloping him once again. Sweet and warm and so very powerful, her magic became a smell of its own. He wanted to turn around and kiss her, to finally have those lips somewhere else than his forehead or his hair - his first kiss.

She removed herself, and the cloak, from his person and he was cold again. It was as though Ismere had instead wrapped itself around him and pull him close as soon as she was gone. "Thank you," his reply was a mere whisper.

"Tell me something," she said, voice curt.

"Of course," he replied. _Anything. Please, Emrys... _Any question she would ask, he would answer.

Merlynn smiled unbelievably, shaking her head. "You saved Arthur's life," she made it sound like a bad joke. "Why?" Her eyes were glinted gold as she looked back up at him, as if to warn him of how powerful she truly was.

"Because Arthur is right," her expression turned into one of surprise. "The love that binds us is more important than the power we wield. Morgana had forgotten that." He was being entirely honest.

For a moment, she narrowed her eyes, staring at him with something that he could not decipher - more suspicion, speculation? - but then, she stepped away from him, her face blank of all emotion and walked away. He was left alone in the antechamber for a few minutes until he was joined by the rest of the knights. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

**[][][][][][]**

It had become a tradition to dine with Gaius on a Sunday evening. Now that she was out of her small little room into the king's bedchambers, she didn't get to spend as much time with him as she would like. So, it became a 'thing' between them. The food was not as delicious as the food she usually ate, but she didn't care; it let her reminisce into her past, when she was but a mere servant girl, and, of course, she was able to speak to Gaius freely. Though, even now, his company could bring her no joy - she thought of the Druid boy sleeping or drinking nearby, gaining friends (_her _friends) and getting closer to Arthur.

"It's been a big day," Gaius said, and from the look he gave her he knew that something was troubling her. She pursed her lips and nodded. "You must be tired. Too tired for pudding?"

Finally, she looked up from her stew and, finally, a smile appeared on her face. "_Is _there pudding?" He only grinned and placed a large plate of pudding in the centre of the table. The smell filled her nostrils, sweet and warm and just _delicious. _"It's my favourite!"

He chuckled and cut her a rather large slice, then placed it before her. As she dug into the treat, distracted, he asked, "So, are you going to tell me what's troubling you?"

"Mordred," she admitted in frustration.

"People change. Perhaps we should give him the benefit of the doubt," he offered.

"That's not what you said about Freya," she said bitterly, her gaze sharp. Merlynn had never once forgotten about Freya, or the way she was treated by all those who came in contact with her - except for Merlynn. She was the only person who gave her a chance, a bit of kindness and compassion; they could have been best friends, if Gaius had not told the king of her whereabouts...

"That was different," he appeased and she laughed without humour.

"Remember what Kilgharrah said? Arthur would meet his end at the hands of a Druid, and I had a vision that confirmed it," she argued.

Gaius sighed. "You still believe that's him?"

"I _believe _that Albion's great trial has already begun."

And it had.

* * *

**So, horrible ending. I'm sorry. :c**

**But more Mordred/Merlynn interaction, yay~~  
**

**Acklesaddict: **omfg skfjfkjh i squealed when i got this because HELLO YOU! wow omfg it feels like forever since I saw your pen name? idk :s but omfg Mordred is everything (even if in the last episode he was a massive douche honky)

**Nerdman3000: **awh, thanks! and yeah, that's what i'm planning :3

**Ausday Rose: **I'm still thinking that Gwen would be brainwashed :c I haven't made _that _decision yet.

**intensewhatever: **that's what i'm thinking too :/ Merlin is _Emrys, _he should be badass and just kasjdskdjgh he just needed to do so much more!

**Of Soul Fire: **gah, i know! i really should have made each episode a chapter, but ugh can't really change it now, can I? and awhjdfdfkfh thank you so much, that's so nice of you to say!

**It's Christmas Eve now, so Merry Christmas to you all! Hope you actually enjoyed this chapter - like a gift to you all? :s Wow can you believe it's been a year and a half since I started this story?! It's absolutely ridiculously amazing! **

**Anyway, I have plans for the future so i'm really excited for you all to read it. If you guys are still interested in it, i guess?  
**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR (because idk if i'll upload on sunday)!  
**

**Love you all,  
**

**Khaleesi~  
**


	5. Death Song of Uther Pendragon: Cathbhadh

**Wow, so it's 2013 (admittedly, I wrote 12 just then). I had a fun New Years, and I wasn't at home so I couldn't upload anything - sorry! And, I was editing and I only finished Death Song last night oops :s **

**I'm not too sure if I like how I've written this, but I really hope you guys like it. Oh well, it's done, it's _edited, _and I'm up to the next episode so I'm very _very _happy.  
**

**So, the finale of Merlin *my cries* I actually started sobbing and my sister had to hug me I was so emotional I don't even know why. Ugh, but honestly, I _liked _the ending - the fact that they stuck true to the legend of Arthur dying by the hand of Mordred was absolutely spectacular, and the "just hold me" absolutely killed me. Although, Kilgharrah just began to irritate me because he's just a dragon full of riddles and whatnot and he isn't all that helpful, but then I begin to understand - it's like how Merlin won't tell Arthur of his destiny, because to _know _your future, to know how you died, would be absolutely horrible.  
**

**Ugh, the reveal. Merlin. Arthur. The whole thing. I want to die. _Gwaine _dying - I actually started crying then, omfg.  
**

**Warning: There is a lemon there, oops, sorry not sorry.  
**

**CHAPTER 5 - DEATH SONG OF UTHER PENDRAGON.  
**

_"You're only so lonely, and I never had a doubt, _  
_You don't even know me, still you pass your judgement out_  
_When you belong, you're just a face in the crowd, _  
_You're only lonely, so lonely, like everybody else."**  
**_- 'You Are Not' by Young Guns.

* * *

It was a week after the madness of Ismere that Arthur suggested a hunting trip to escape from the clutter of Camelot. It was also the day of his coronation which, he admitted to her, made him want to leave the castle more than any other day. While he hunt, she watched from her horse - she always watched from afar, making sure he was safe. He would search for animals, while she looked to the horizon, through the tree line for bandits or worse. But then, he would turn with his kill - rabbit, or squirrel or bird - with a grin on his face, boyish and toothy and so carefree of all the troubles of his coronation, and she would return it.

Of course she would, how could she not?

They pushed on, though, because he still hadn't caught anything large enough to sate his desire to hunt and gods, how she loved him too much to deny him of this one joy. He kept the kill slung over his saddle for the cook - "She's going to love it," he would utter when he tied the rope around feet or claw.

As they walked, she pondered. "Why did you let Mordred in to Camelot?" she asked aloud, though she wasn't sure whether it was meant to come out or not. The boy, she guessed, was none the wiser to his destiny, but it was not who he was that she was terrified of, it was who he could be - who he _would _be.

"He asked," he replied nonchalantly.

Merlynn bristled at the words. "Oh, so you don't mind that one of your knights is a druid, who is harbouring magic?" she mused, sending him a tight, little smile.

"I don't mind that my wife is a legendary sorceress called 'Emrys', now, do I?" he retorted, and she glared at him. "I have a question. If you are so wanting of me to accept magic, then why are you so against Mordred being here? When he was a boy you loved him."

"He was a boy, then," she said, thinking of nothing else to say to him. _Then - _so long ago, when he was a silent child who was dying from infection, hidden in the crevices of Morgana's chambers. _'__Then_' was so long ago.

"I thought you would have wanted one of your kind in Camelot," he admitted, raking gloved hands through his hair. He grimaced at the trees, and her expression softened as she noticed him. Merlynn realised why he had brought Mordred back in the first place, not just because he requested to. "I thought... You always talk about being able to use your magic and asking me to accept it, and while it'll take some time, I wanted to do this for you."

"Mordred is a gift?" she asked, a smile on her face. _Oh, you silly, sweet man, so odd and lovely and oh, how I love you. _

Arthur rubbed against his jaw, nose scrunched in a thoughtful fashion. "No, no, no - that's not what I meant. You can talk about magic and do magical stuff and be magical together and I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about," he answered bashfully.

She almost felt tears sting at her eyes; the gesture was so sweet, even though it was certainly the wrong person elect as her 'magical pal'. He was thinking of her in that moment when he accepted Mordred's request - while it probably wasn't the _only _reason, it was surely one of them, and that was enough to make her smile wetly and lean in to draw him into a deep kiss. When they parted, she smiled again and brushed his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You adorable bastard," she whispered, kissing his jaw.

"No clotpole this time?" he grinned. Merlynn shook her head with a small laugh, breathless and teary. "I'm glad your happy," he added, linking her fingers with his and kissing her knuckles.

And then, she wondered, _could she ever be truly happy? _There were few moments in her life when she was truly happy, content, with no fear or pain, and now as the seed of Morgana's destruction was flowering beneath Camelot she felt as though happiness was out of reach. Pleased maybe, satisfied perhaps, was the degree of her happiness until the end.

"I love you," she said instead and felt him squeeze her hand in return.

A woman's scream broke through the silence; it was a wailing sound, terrified and broken. Arthur swiftly dismounted from Lamri and grabbed at his weapon, "What was that?" _A bird, _she hoped. There was a second scream and he was off. "That was _definitely not a bird." _

Merlynn hung her head and chased after him on foot, knowing Firefoot would keep where she was until they returned. "It's never just a bird," she muttered to herself, reaching him quickly.

He was peeking around the thick, rotted trunk; ahead of them, on the forefront of an old village, was a woman being dragged to a pile of wood in preparation to be, presumably, burned to death, she noted, as she saw one of the men carrying a lit torch in the morning sun. Villagers travelled behind them in a flock of brown and grey, cheering over the woman's screams of horror. She glanced at Arthur and then, a sigh in her throat, she took off down the hill toward the madness, ignoring him latching onto her wrist as she ran.

"Where are you going?" he hissed quietly.

"Well, you obviously want to risk our lives to see what's going on, as usual," said Merlynn, rolling her eyes. "Basically, I'm two steps ahead. Might as well go strolling in."

"Let the woman go," he declared abruptly once they reached the village, making the man pause in lighting the wood seconds before the fire touched it.

"This woman has been sentenced to death. It does not concern you," the man, presumably the leader, snapped viciously.

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot," with these words, the town chief froze, as did the rest of the villagers, "and this is my wife, Merlynn Pendragon, _Queen _of Camelot. Your village is in _our _lands." They were stared at as if they were a wonder of the world, precious artefacts sent from a far off land.

"I suppose that means it does concern us," Merlynn remarked, crossing her arms.

The town chief clenched his jaw, but knew better than to speak out of turn, or with disrespect, "Her sorcery has brought sickness and suffering to this village." The fact that the woman was being convicted for something she may have not even committed made it even worse, and she wanted to throttle the man before her. Even if she was a sorcerer, it did not mean she was evil. The sight of her tear-tracked, ashen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes told her of a scared, old woman, not an evil witch. She let out a sob, then, cowering into the pole she was tied to.

"Did she receive a fair trial?" he demanded.

"Your father would have shown him no mercy," the man spat.

Merlynn was close enough to Arthur that he only had to twist his fingers a little to touch her tunic, and he gripped it, pulling her closer. There was a tremor in his fingers, and she knew that he was moments away from physical violence - she wouldn't stop him, either Or, he was holding her because he knew of her attachment to her kin, knew that she was aggressive when it came to issues such as these. "Obviously," she spoke before he could, her voice shaking, "he is not her father. I don't think you should be saying such disrespectful things to your king now, should you?" He paled. "Now _cut her down." _Granted, she used her 'Emrys' voice, but it seemed to have the same effect.

The town chief puffed up his chest, though she could see a glint of fear in his eyes as he replied, "I will not put my village in danger."

"Cut. Her. Down." With each word, Arthur stepped closer, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the man's chest.

Merlynn climbed up onto the pyre and untied the woman, then wrapped her too-thin arm around her shoulders to keep her upright; she was heavier than she expected, but it didn't matter. She just wanted to get her away from the vermin of the village overrun by their fear, to safety so she could heal the wounds she had received from them. She ignored the eyes of the people - shocked, guilty, terrified, they stared at her as she helped the old woman toward the forest. Arthur joined them, slinging the other arm around his shoulder.

He moved them to a spot near the horses and made preparation for camp for the evening. Once Arthur set the woman down, Merlynn was at her side, fingers brushing over obvious places where her grey dress was darkened by blood to make sure whether it was a serious wound - or a wound at all. There was one at her hip, her arm and another on her stomach; she was too weak for her body to fight it, too old and broken by the beatings from the villagers. She took a breath and tore her tunic into strips so she could wrap the wound.

"I heard water nearby," she announced, "and there's bound to be some _ bushes near that. They're large and flat, okay? Can you get them for me?"

"The horses are nearby, so I'll grab the waterskins as well," he replied and hurried off.

Merlynn made quick conversation with the woman to keep her awake; she learned her name was Valdis, and that she was a healer, not a great sorcerer that could bring ruin to a village. It was a child she had tried to heal, the wound too deep for her to cure without magic - the child healed suspiciously and she was captured. "Well," she said, when she finished her tale with a smile, "you're safe now."

Arthur returned soundlessly, handing her the items without a question. He gave her a brief kiss on the head and took a seat near the wood that was already set in the middle of the clearing, a hand on his weapon. _She may be the great and powerful Emrys, _he thought, _but she was still Merlynn. _"Have you got everything you need?"

"I think so," she shrugged. Merlynn did what she could, cleaning and wrapping the wounds to the best of her ability. She even used a small amount of magic - any more, and Valdis' body would go into shock from it. She wouldn't live, regardless.

"Is there anything more you can do for her?" he asked, and she knew the implications. _Magic. _

"She won't survive the night. I already used magic, but not a lot," she admitted in a hushed tone. Valdis had slept through the healing, and she didn't want to wake her before her passing. Arthur kissed her again on the cheek, his gloved hand comfortingly rubbing her shoulder.

"Thank you," Valdis whispered, before she grabbed Arthur's arm and squeezed tight. He glanced at her in surprise.

He removed her hand and set it back to her side, his features soft, "You should try and get some rest."

"My time has come," she insisted. "When you have lived as long as I, you no longer fear the journey to the next world. I have a gift for you. You showed kindness, and compassion. Those are the qualities of a true king." She weakly pulled an object from beneath the folds of her gown in a hidden pocket and raised it to him, her hand trembling from exertion. "O - open it."

Arthur took it hesitantly and, with a quick look at Merlynn, removed the cloth that covered it. He looked at Valdis as soon as the item was revealed; it was a horn carved from ivory, thin golden rings decorating it. She could see runes, possibly from the language of the Old Religion, drawn across the sides of the horn. It was magic, she could feel it, and it reminded her of the Cailleach and the Veil in which she dwelled. Merlynn shifted away from it, frowning at it; she didn't want to be reminded of that _place _again.

"It's beautiful," he remarked in awe.

"It has the power to summon the spirits of the dead." Then, with a final breath, her eyes closed, and she was lost to the world.

She was mourned with respect as kin, buried beneath the earth with rocks settled over her body. _A child of magic should be buried in the source of it, _she thought as she set the final rock on the pile. "We have to get back at Gaius," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat she didn't know was there, and felt Arthur wrap his warm hand around her wrist.

He hummed in agreement and kissed her temple. "Let's go."

Gaius was, respectively, hesitant once he saw the carved instrument. He did not need to look through his books for more information, not with that look in her eyes that Merlynn knew far too well - nervousness clouded his ancient gaze and made her anxious, herself. She didn't doubt this trinket had more value to it, and didn't think to doubt the words of the sorceress that it brought spirits from the dead. She spared a glance at Arthur as he stared at Gaius, too; she knew his thoughts, because she saw the expression on his face once Valdis told him what it did. He thought of his father, she knew, and he looked - dare she say it? - hopeful.

"My gods, this is the Horn of Cathbhadh. When Uther attacked the Isle of the Blessed, the horn was smuggled to safety before the temple fell. It hasn't been heard of since," he told the pair, his eyes never faltering from the object.

"The old woman said that it could be used to bring back spirits from the dead," Arthur admitted. Gaius looked to her, then, and they shared the same thought - _Uther. _

He hummed, and said, "I've seen it with my own eyes. Long before the time of the Great Purge I took part in such ceremonies. each year at Beltain, the High Priestesses would gather at the Great Stones of Nemeton and summon the spirits of their ancestors." Gaius lifted the thing and handed it to Merlynn, not Arthur, adding, "It holds powerful magic. You must keep it safe."

"I will, Gaius. Don't you worry about that," she promised.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur's day of coronation was a day to be celebrated, and a feast was held in his honour. All were enjoying the festivities of the evening - everyone except, well, _Arthur _himself. Merlynn had seen the same look on his fast every year on the same evening. He was in his own world, his dark cloud of regret and anger. He was among his people in the dining hall, but he was not _truly _there. If she tried to comfort him at supper, he would not react to it at all. Merlynn drunk her wine and chatted with the guests, mainly the knights, who knew all too well of the distant behaviour of their king on such an evening. She stood from her chair and squeezed in between the knights before Arthur left to Uther's crypt - which, she knew he undoubtedly would.

"He's always like this at the anniversary of his coronation," Elyan was telling Mordred, who hadn't yet looked away from his king, his brows furrowed.

Merlynn hadn't been too happy to know that he fit in famously among her friends, and they had become close - Mordred had especially taken to bonding with Arthur, which only made her angrier. She rolled her eyes and smiled at Percival, who still managed to tower over her from her seat on the armchairs of his and Gwaine's seats.

"I thought it was a cause for celebration?" Mordred wondered.

"It is," she decided to voice, "but it's also the anniversary of Uther's death." He looked at her in surprise, as if wondering why she even decided to speak to him, but then understanding changed his features - he nodded, eyes sad. Arthur excused himself and went to her, kissing her briefly on the mouth and then left through the side door without a word. She stared after him with a sigh.

"Where's he off to?"

She didn't speak, so Elyan told him, "Uther's crypt. He does this every year. It's like tradition."

"Well, I'm off," she announced abruptly, getting to her feet. She kissed each knight on the head, save for Mordred who simply nodded again. "Going for a bit of a walk - excuse me, boys."

Merlynn loved her boys, of course she did, but she couldn't bare to be around any of them on this evening. It was also the day that _she _killed Uther - accidental, yes, but she still had a hand in Arthur's misery. It was her fault. Arthur had told her many a time that it wasn't, but on nights like these, she knew he blamed her at times with a single look. And she hated it, loathed the thought of him thinking of her in an ill manner. She could feel the sharp burn of tears and she rubbed them away angrily, breathing in slowly to calm herself.

"Emrys," Mordred's voice was certainly something she didn't expect, or want, at that moment.

"Go _away!" _she growled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, curious and if not a little concerned.

"I'm fine, now let me be!"

He frowned, hurt by her rejection. She had gone to the barracks, where the air was cool and she wasn't smothered by the presence of others as she was within the castle walls. Mordred must have followed her, she guessed, glaring at him. All she had wanted was peace and solidarity. "I just wanted to see if you were okay," he said quietly. "You looked upset. I'm sorry for bothering you."

Mordred turned to leave and, as silly as it seemed, she felt _guilty _for her behaviour. He didn't know of what she knew, of what would come, and he seemed to idolise Arthur, not hate him. So, technically, she had no reason to be mad at him - but she was, so very _angry _at him. "Mordred," she said, hating herself for her soft tone, "I - I'm sorry, I just -"

"I understand. But, know that it wasn't your fault - it was Morgana's. How were you to know of her trickery?" he comforted, and she gaped at him.

"How did yo know that I -?"

"You were thinking rather loudly," he replied, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Was I?" she asked faintly. Merlynn climbed up onto the barracks and leaned back, using her hands to keep her up; if she leaned a little further and let go, she would possibly plunge to her death, she realised then, smiling bitterly. How easy it would be for Mordred to end her, with how close he stood and the way she sat, but he didn't, only moved up beside her.

"I can help you, Emrys," he told her. "You haven't used your magic in so long, you've become weaker."

"I have not!" she scoffed, eyes flashing.

"_You have. _You only use it as a last resort - your magic, Emrys, it's so beautiful and wonderful. It's _why _you're Emrys. The gods gave you the most spectacular gift, and you hide it in fear. It's the most spectacular sight to see and you stuff it away like it's a burden," he argued. Her magic was like the sky, so vast and dangerous and so yet so spectacular, with so many mysteries to be found; it was why the Druids bowed at an altar in worship of her, why so many feared and rued and respected the name 'Emrys'.

"I do not. I have accepted my magic and I'm trying not to push Arthur any more than I have," she insisted. "He's grown up hating magic - in fact, magic killed _both _his parents. Besides, being queen and being Emrys... it makes it easier to get caught these days, so I don't want to risk it."

Mordred boldly took her hand; it was soft and rough and scarred all the same. Her fingers twitched, about to retract, but she didn't. "If you want to fight Morgana and_ win _you need to use your magic and strengthen it. Magic like yours, Emrys... it's true power. Morgana may be a high priestess but you are so much more than that; against you, she is a canary to a dragon. I can help you."

She was silent. He was right, of course she knew he was right. Concealing her magic weakened it, made her rusty, and it itched and burned and _writhed _within her, begging and wanting, desperate to burst out from its isolation. Could she trust him, though? He may not feel any ill will toward Arthur, but she didn't know if he was still mad at _her - _his last words all those years ago were: _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget. _Her apprehension clouded her judgement, sure, but then she made a decision based on hard facts and logic.

"I would... like that," she said finally. His eyes lit up and he smiled, that same boyish smile he once had when he was boy; she, not even with a hint of reluctance, smiled back at him. Merlynn said her farewells to Mordred and left to her bedchamber, whether Arthur was already there or not, to speak to him. He was vulnerable on the day of his coronation, the cracks he tried to hide so visible, and with the horn in his possession she could only guess where his thoughts had retreated.

He was sat in his chair, hands fiddling with something unseen to her; as soon as the door creaked open, he shoved the object beneath a bowl and snapped around to face her, his smile innocent and forced. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, eyebrow raising. "What are you doing?" there was nothing but suspicion and amusement in the way she spoke.

"Nothing... thinking," he replied dismissively.

"Oh? Well, something must be wrong if you're _thinking," _she commented, taking the seat to his left. Her eyes strayed to the bowl; the horn's magic whispered from beneath it, and she had to hide her smirk.

"Shut up," he grunted. As her hands strayed toward the bowl, he reached out, grasping her wrist tight. "Don't!"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I'm telling you to," he retorted.

Merlynn let out a little chuckle, and retracted herself from him. "You _do _know that one of my abilities is _sensing _magic?"

He paused then, with a clench of his jaw, swore, "Fuck!" She snorted in surprise at the curse, though said nothing else. "I - well, you would have found out eventually anyway. The horses are already waiting out in the courtyard - let's go."

"Where are we going?" she wondered, hating the answer already.

"You'll find out once we get there."

Merlynn wondered how she ended up going with him, but then she realised that she would always go with him. To the ends of the earth, she would follow, even if she couldn't walk a mile longer - she would. Not only because it was her destiny, her duty, but it was because she loved him more than anyone had loved another. It was why she mounted Firefoot for another adventure, why she changed back into her old tunic and breeches without a word to anyone.

They reached their destination late that afternoon. The air was crisp and fresh, and the meadows were thick and lush; magic swirled around the area like mist, coating each surface with it's power. Stone pillars were planted in a circle, broken and crumbling. Arthur answered her thoughts, "The Great Stones of Nemeton."

"You're going to use the horn," she stated, staring at him with a look akin to disappointment.

"This is the one chance I'll be able to see my father again," he defended, tugging the horn from his belt. "I'm not going to let it pass."

"It's powerful magic, Arthur. Even I know better than to mess with it."

Arthur looked at the horn, then at her, his features set. There was going to be little use arguing with him when he looked like _that. _"My father was taken from me before his time. Now there isn't a day that passes when I don't think of the things I wish I'd said to him," he admitted. "If you were given the same chance to see your father, talk to him. Wouldn't you do the same?" When she didn't reply, he added, "And let's not forget that you took part in -"

"That's not fair and you know it," she barked heatedly.

"Merlynn, just let me do this. _Please." _

And she had no objections after that. His eyes, which were still red-rimmed from the evening before, were once again wet and puffy and she didn't have the heart to argue with him on the matter any longer. She nodded, and kept by the horses as he walked the next few steps into the stone circle. Once he was in there, he blew the horn once; what emitted from it was a beautiful sound, but wailing, _beckoning. _Then there was a bright light and Arthur was _gone. _She swallowed thickly and leaned against one of the stones, waiting for him. Merlynn hated this feeling of not knowing whether Arthur was going to be okay or not; the magic didn't falter, so she couldn't know what was going on in the world of the dead.

She could only hope.

Arthur was encased in a white room, endless and vast and so _blinding_. He was lost. There was nothing behind him, or before him, to the east or the west. Nothing at all. He was so very alone. He turned back, hoping to see the stones, to see Merlynn there waiting for him - but no, it was an endless abyss of_ light. _Finally, he saw someone, a tall shape, walking toward him. The heavy footsteps were familiar, but not as comforting as he would have hoped. But, as soon as he saw _that face - _it was not the face of the worn down broken shell of a man that Morgana had left in her wake, but it was the strong king before that, before _all of it. _Strong jaw, Pendragon eyes and chin, that fierce king who he used to be.

"Father..." he breathed. "I thought I'd never see you again. There isn't a day that passes when I don't think of you."

"And I, you," his voice was the same, just like he had hoped.

His tongue was thick in his mouth, there was a lump in his throat and he felt like his knees were going to give. There he was, his father, and he was floored. He tried to get as much out as he could; he didn't know how much time they had. "There are times when I feel so alone, I wish more than anything that you were by my side."

"If I were at your side, I fear you would not like all that I have to say," Uther told him, coming closer. He was illuminated by the white light; now that Arthur could see him, he saw his ashen face, pale and ghostly, the dead emotion in his blue gaze.

"What do you mean?"

The room seemed to grow darker with the crackling energy around them. He could feel his father's anger reaching out toward him as though it was a living, breathing thing and he took a step back to avoid it. "Many of the decisions you have made since you have become king go against all that I taught you."

This was not the way he wanted their reunion to be. He wanted it filled with joy and reminiscing, not bitterness and spite. He clenched his jaw, feeling himself become defensive. "I have done what I have believed to be right," he argued. He made bad decisions, like every human being, but the good outweighed the bad.

"You have ignored our tradition, our ancient laws. You have allowed common men to become knights," he spat.

"They are some of the finest knights that Camelot's ever known," he defended them, all of them. "They would gladly give their lives for the kingdom."

Uther sneered. "They question your decisions. They make you look _weak." _

"Listening to others is a sign of strength, _not _weakness."

"How do you expect anyone to fear a king who does not know his own mind?" He was belittling things, making him doubt and question his motives; but, he began to think, if Merlynn was there, she would tell Arthur to hold fast, to ignore the spiteful words of his father. He took a deep breath and _tried _to ignore his words, to push through them.

"I don't want my people to respect me because they fear me," he said, his brows knitted.

Uther scoffed, "Then they will not respect you at all. Your marriage should have served to form an alliance with another kingdom and you choose to marry a servant. _Merlynn, _no less." The tone he used when he spoke of her, the hatred and _anger; _it made him bristle, made the hair stand up on his arms. He wanted to throttle his father, then.

"I married for love," he snapped. "I love Merlynn. More than... I can express." It was always the answer; he never knew how to express how much he truly loved her, not with words or actions or _anything. _But, he did, a lot more than he could ever show her, and marrying her was the best decision yet.

"There are some things that are more important than love. It is your duty to strengthen and protect the kingdom," he roared. "You have failed!"

"I have always strived to make you proud -"

"How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything that I taught him? Who is destroying my legacy?" his heart clenched at his father's words.

Arthur swallowed. "I have brought peace to the kingdom..."

"At what price? The peace cannot last. If you are not strong, the kingdom will fall." Uther opened his mouth as if he wished to say more, so much more, but he paused, glancing at the white beam behind Arthur. "You must go now."

"I need more time. There is still so much I wish to say," he cried, feeling desperate.

"If you stay, you will be forever trapped in the world of the dead. You must go now. Go."

Arthur clenched his jaw once again and moved back toward the light, but didn't turn yet. He wanted to keep his eyes on his father for as long as possible. "This can't be the last time I will ever see you."

"Think about everything that I have said to you. It isn't too late. Now go. I will always love you, Arthur."

He turned and walked toward the beam, back into the real world; he could see the faint outline of the stones, Merlynn's dark hair wild in the wind. _Just once more, _he thought, and glanced back at his father. The last time he would ever see him. He faded into the darkness and he was back in the meadow, among the Great Stones, cheeks damp from tears and his heart heavy. Merlynn's face dropped and she rushed toward him, but wasn't quick enough as he sunk to the ground; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and went on her knees as well. His own wound around her waist and pulled her close, burying his face into his neck.

And then, he allowed himself to weep.

Arthur didn't touch her once he regained composure. They were silent as they rode back to Camelot, when they stopped for camp in the evening. Not a word was spoken, not until she gained the courage to talk to her. He looked troubled, he _was _troubled. He wanted to talk to her, but his father's words couldn't escape his mind; he told him to leave Merlynn, to rid his best knights from the title and to ruin everything. It was ridiculous!

"Do you want to talk about it?" _Yes, yes, of course I do. _"Arthur?"

"It seems my father doesn't approve of the way I have chosen to rule his kingdom," he finally said, rubbing his chin viciously.

"You mean _your _kingdom?" she retorted. He smiled faintly; always ready to defend him, to make him feel better.

"Our kingdom," he corrected. Merlynn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "The things he said about the knights, about _you - _what if he's right? What if I have weakened Camelot?"

Merlynn moved closer to him across the fire, setting herself on his lap, straddling him so she could hold his cheeks in her hands and stare into his eyes; if she was going to rid him of his doubts, she would have to make sure he _wouldn't _look away. His hands settled naturally on her hips, scrunching her tunic up in his grip. She kissed him briefly and said, "Arthur, if you didn't have the knights now you would probably be dead and the kingdom would fall. If you didn't have me, it'd be the exact same. You've always done what you believed was right, and you've had me to help you along the way. Yes, people make mistakes - Uther certainly has no right to say that you've made mistakes, he's a hypocrite. Your people love you _and _respect you, and you didn't have to do that with hatred and fear. You have built a kingdom from ashes that your father left behind, okay? He's _wrong." _

He kissed her, then, fierce and wet and warm. "Thank you," he breathed against her mouth, kissing her again.

Arthur gripped her hips tighter and slid them further onto his lap, their groins brushing against the other; a sharp moan escaped her, and he grinned, pleased with himself. He began to realise that they hadn't had sex since before Ismere, and his own groan left him as she ground into him and moved her soft lips to his throat, nipping and sucking and _oh god, _he wanted all of her, then. He didn't care that they were out in the middle of the forest, he just needed _her. _He flipped her on her back and took quick work of ridding her of her boots and breeches, biting at her inner thigh briefly before she turned them around again.

It was no time for sweet and slow, but fast and rough and she was already so ready for him. She slid his trousers to his knees and sank onto him, gasping and writhing above her king while he hissed, digging his fingers painfully into her hips. "Oh, _gods,"_ it was a choked noise that left his mouth, a half-groan, almost pained.

They rose and fell together, mad and fast; he was sure that he had bruised her but for now he didn't care. All he cared about was the heat that encased him, tight and clenched around his cock. He slammed up into her, eyes rolling back into his head. Too long, it had been, and he wasn't going to last. Merlynn bit down into the joint between his shoulder and neck and he jerked, letting out a sound akin to a shout. He would not come before she did, he vowed, as he reached down to brush against the small bundle of nerves that he knew would set her off, also drawing her cloth-covered breast into his mouth.

She cried out and shook around him. Merlynn was close, he knew it. Her eyes were starting to turn gold in her pleasure, the air and the earth was reacting to it. He slammed into her once again and she arched her back, a loud keen that was in his name leaving her as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, hips thrusting mercilessly down onto his lap. He reached oblivion only seconds later, mouth on her breast. "_Merly -" _he growled out, unable to finish her name as he came, thrusting deep and quick and without much skill.

He collapsed on his back, feeling the dirt rub against his ass uncomfortably. Merlynn fell quickly after, still shaking, her eyes flickering from gold to blue. She cupped his neck and pulled him close, giving him a blinding kiss. He was still inside her, even as he softened, though neither minded.

"We should do that more often," she breathed with a little laugh.

He grinned and pressed her closer; their tunics were still on, and his trousers were around his knees but he was too tired to care. "We will," he said. She moved away from him to grab one of their blankets and throw it on the ground, then pulled her trousers back on, the other blanket at her feet. He almost felt disappointed when she did it, but instead smiled as she returned to his side, cuddled up beside him. Arthur tugged up his own pants and threw his arm around her, the other reaching for the second blanket.

As they settled down to sleep, Arthur forgot about his father's words, of his doubts and his fears. He was content.

* * *

**mortaldaughterofAthena:** well, happy (belated) birthday! c:**  
**

To: **ClumsyCassandra, LissyHoneyBee, AusdayRose **and **Reviewer**: I have a few ideas, but I'm not entirely sure what direction I'm going in. To be honest, I really only figure out what direction I'm taking once it's written down on the page - if I plan ahead, my writing just ends up being more horrible than any other I swear. Also, **AusdayRose, **why did you find the finale stupid?

**machalajane: **mmm, no, I don't think I was. Everything concrete happened - Alex Vlahos (Mordred) said beloved characters were going to die. It was always going to be Arthur dying in the end, it had been set since the first episode of season 5 or, the people who knew of the legends just _knew. _Bringing Mordred into the story made me more aware of what was going to happen. Gwaine dying was horrifying, and I wondered why they decided to kill _him _of all the knights. Leon wasn't going to die, I knew, but _still - _Gwaine, he's the most beloved of all the knights (which is probably why he was killed, I just realised). Merlin's reveal to Arthur was perfect, and so was Arthur's reaction - it was beautiful and tragic and _god, _those two. I feel horrible for Merlin, the most though - he knew, this whole time, that his best friend was going to die and that Calmain? was the catalyst and he had tried so hard to prevent it but he just _knew _and that was horrible. To have to return to Camelot, but it is never said that he does return to Camelot. Ugh, _Gwen _was kept waiting, waiting and watching, for Merlin and Arthur (if Merlin never returned), not knowing but knowing at the same time that he was gone.

It was a heartbreaking ending, but I loved it. Why were you disappointed?

**spiderswantmetotapdance: **your pen name is so great (even though ew spiders). Lara Pulver is perf, but I'm not entirely sure I could think of her as Merlynn - I don't know, I think it's just because she's the perfect Irene Adler... I just, can't tear her away from that role.

**Lunarii: **oh goodness, _hello _there. First, can I just say how beautifully written your _review _was? Jesus, if you can create a review so lovely I wonder how spectacular your other writings are. Oh goodness, thank you so much for all the sweet words... I'm terrible at responding to compliments, so I'm sorry if this sounds really stupid, but just... wow, thank you. My mum keeps telling me I'll be a writer one day, as well! Haha, this is the only story I've latched onto, because it's the one that I've just _kept _writing - I gave up on all my other stories, because most of the time my thoughts are here, with Merlynn and trying to figure stuff out. I get a little obsessed with things easily, and then I become _sort _of a perfectionist and _yeah, _so that's really why I've stuck by it. And just, gahhh thank you and hope you enjoy the rest of it.

**Wow, so meaty replies (forgive me), but they had to be said because the finale and all that jazz. I do sincerely hope you all like where I'm taking this story, even though I don't really have a clue where I'm going myself! **

**Also, how were your New Years/Christmas?  
**

**Love you all,  
**

**Khaleesi~  
**


	6. Death Song of Uther Pendragon: Demons

**Hello! Sorry for the late upload - sister's birthday and, oh, I'm at a friend's house right now (ha, social life). But, _so _I've gotten really good responses on this story so far! I mean, wow I literally squeal at every review thank you so much. **

**CHAPTER 6 - DEATH SONG OF UTHER PENDRAGON**

_"They say the spirit's willing_  
_ But the flesh is always weak_  
_ I found everything I needed_  
_ Right beneath my skin, oh" _

- 'Bones' by Young Guns

* * *

Arthur's visit to the Veil, she knew, had consequences. She, herself, had visited the Veil, felt the grasp of the dead clinging to her half-live shoulders desperately trying to escape. Since he crossed worlds, odd things had begun to transpire in the kingdom - the candelabra in the throne room crashing down upon the Round Table, doors swinging open, candles flickered out and, the worst of it, Percival was almost killed by a 'falling axe', he had said. Arthur had questioned her about it too, as if she would have any part in it - "are you mucking about?" were his exact words, and forgive her for being a little abrupt about her smacking him across the shoulder.

She stayed with Gaius that evening, she had decided. It _was _a Sunday and she didn't feel like speaking to Arthur about his trip to the Veil, not unless she wished to argue with him. Something had gone horribly wrong when he visited Nemeton, she knew it.

"We went to the Stones of Nemeton," she finally blurted, after Percival had left.

Gaius gaped at her, his old face red with anger. "Merlynn, I warned you of the dangers -!"

"I tried to stop him," she shouted. "He was insistent, though. I _couldn't _stop him." Merlynn bit her lip and took a seat, feeling utterly helpless; again, it was all her fault. _As it always was, _she thought bitterly.

"Merlynn, what is it?"

"After the candelabra fell, I could sense something in the corridor, like Percival had said - a presence of some kind," she admitted.

Gaius pursed his lips. "In the days of the Old Religion, the priestesses trained for years before entering into the spirit world. It was fraught with dangers. There was one thing they were schooled never to do. As the veil closed, they were never to look back at the spirit. If they _did, _they would release the spirit into this world."

"Arthur must have looked back," she mumbled to herself. Merlynn shot to her feet and raced out the door without another word, and Gaius knew better than to call after her. She had a purpose, a destination; if Arthur knew what presence was among them he could try and stop _him _from attacking anyone else.

Arthur was, in the only way to describe it, _perplexed _by what she was telling him. "What?"

"I think you may have released your father's spirit," she repeated. It wasn't a prospect to be excited about; having a rouge and angry spirit in Camelot was a thing to be feared. Uther was mad at his son and hated those that disrespected his badly-constructed dream, which meant a vengeful ghost wading through the halls.

"How?" Monosyllabic answers. He was angry.

"Did you look back as the Veil closed?" she asked him.

Arthur sighed, rubbing at his jaw. "I may have glanced round for a second," he defended.

She rolled her eyes and took the seat to his left again, grabbing his hand. "And in that moment, you released Uther - well, his spirit. All these strange things that have been happening: the doors, the candelabra..."

"The chain broke," he retorted.

"The axe falling on Percy?"

"An accident. Look, do you really think that my father is behind all these things?"

Merlynn nodded. "All the things that have been happening have a purpose. The Round Table represents all that changed since you were king, and it shows your unity with the men who your father disapproves of. He's mad at you, Arthur, and that makes him dangerous."

"I know my father. He wouldn't do this," he snapped.

"Who _knows _what he's capable of?" she barked back, nostrils flaring. Merlynn was on her feet and touching his shoulder. "You said that he didn't like the way you ruled the kingdom; he's trying to protect his legacy!"

Arthur knocked his seat back and pushed her away lightly, trying to get her toward the door. "Leave! Leave me be! _Go!" _

"Fine," she spat and stormed off.

There were times, like this one, where Merlynn _hated _how stubborn and hard-headed Arthur could be - when it truly mattered, when it was important that he believed her. Sure, to think that his father was the source of all the madness going around Camelot was a ludicrous idea, but he should at least _consider _it. She wouldn't just _say _that it was Uther without have hard evidence first, and she did. Merlynn knew better than to doubt Gaius, who knew more about the horn and the spirit world than she ever could.

As she walked, the corridor began to dim. The candles flickered and sputtered as if a hidden source of wind was brushing over them. She paused, and felt something behind her; it rippled and shifted the air, looming closer and closer. Eyes were on her back, but she knew if she turned there would be no one to be seen. Then, the windows began to rattle, the doors in the hall shook. Merlynn didn't dare go near them. If she remained calm, perhaps Uther would leave her? She walked forward, trying to remain cool and composed, though her heart was hammering in her chest. As she reached the end of the hall, each candle blew out and she was enveloped in darkness.

She took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. She was going to walk to the knights quarters, and stay with them for a little while, or even with Gwen. Then, there was a hand ripping into her hair and she was forced to the ground, where she was then dragged, kicking and screaming, toward the other end of the corridor. Merlynn was too afraid to use her magic, too out of her element to do anything but hook her foot in a jutted section of the wall to free herself from Uther's grasp. She scrambled to her feet and took no time in running from the invisible force.

Something whacked her in the back of her head, vaguely feeling like a candle, but that didn't falter her steps. She was _determined _to escape Uther's wrath, and that meant _run. _Her vision blurred, head throbbed, but she kept running. Then, she heard something detach from a suit of armour and finally turned around - a spear, the sharp tip poised in her direction, was sent soaring toward her, and she couldn't run into the nearest room fast _enough _before the spear lodged into the door right where her heart would have been.

"Wow," she panted.

As she turned around, curse words streamed through her head when she realised where she was. _The kitchen. _Shelves of barrels and food and very sharp utensils used to cook the meals surrounded her, and she wanted to cry then and there. Merlynn grimaced. "_Shit." _

A pot soared past her head, and she only just missed it. Why did she have to be wearing a dress? she thought as she turned on her heel and raced deeper into the kitchen, where she knew there was another door which lead to the courtyard. An unwilling yelp left her as three knives flew at her and she ducked; she didn't even think to use her magic as she avoided each thing thrown at her. Merlynn was surrounded by thousands of things that could end her, and she couldn't seem to make those extra few steps to the servant exit.

Something crashed into the back of her head in the same place the candle had, and she saw stars. As she fell, she knew she needed help. The name projected from her mind before she could stop it, but she needed him. _'Mor...dred... help.' _Black clouded her vision and she saw no more.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred was rather surprised to have the knights shine to him quickly; he thought it would've taken weeks for him to form bonds with each one of them, but they seemed relatively happy to have him in their 'group'. These knights - Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival and Leon - were the ones that everyone admired and sought to be, the closest to the king and now, he was a part of them. The only one that didn't seem to trust him as much as the other's was Lancelot, though he couldn't help but understand - he was, respectively, closest to Emrys out of all of them, and knew far more about her than any of them.

Gwaine, though, had grown on him more than he would have thought. The man was still rather smitten with Merlynn, but his thoughts were clouded with the countless other women he spent time with and his drink and his loyalty. While jealous, muddling through his thoughts to see memories he kept fond and close to his heart of the two of them, he still found Gwaine to be a good _friend. _

"So, got your eyes on our queen, eh?" Gwaine said loudly, nudging him.

He blushed heavily. _Oh, gods. _"Wh - what?" he stammered, gaping at him. The band of knights let out a collective groan, including Lancelot.

"Mate," said Leon, clapping his shoulder, "I think at one point we've all been there."

"_What?" _

"Yeah. I once thought I had a thing for her, and I know Gwaine used to - I don't know about the rest of the lads, but she's quite a catch," Percival told him with a saucy wink.

Mordred was horrified that he was among men who also felt for Merlynn, even if it was, as Percival said, in the past. He could feel thoughts flair; the one that were the loudest, most potent against his own was Leon's. He delved deep into the knight's head, and saw Emrys there, naked and soaking in a waterfall, her back to Leon's eyes. He dug his gloved fingers into his thigh, biting back curses - _how dare he see her like that, _he thought angrily, and forced a smile on his face.

"I know she's great - hell, she's better than great - but you've got to let it go," Gwaine said with a kind grin. "It's for the best. I don't think she's going to leave Arthur any time soon."

"No, she won't. She loves him too much," Lancelot declared, glaring at Mordred.

_'Mordred!' _he could hear her at the back of his mind, prying into his thoughts. He froze and whipped around to stare at the door. _'Mordred!' _It was definitely Emrys, and she sounded scared and, possibly, in pain. He was on his feet and out the door immediately, racing toward the castle. The knights shouted after him, Lancelot's words the loudest, though he didn't pay them any mind, couldn't even hear them over his worry.

'_Emrys!' _he shouted back, but he felt nothing reach out to him. So, he felt for her magic and found it, sputtering and buzzing from the kitchens. As he ran toward the kitchens, he felt ash on his tongue from smoke, and ran faster.

The door was locked. He used his magic, the only thing he _could _do, to burst open the door, even though he had promised King Arthur that he wouldn't. Smoke billowed into his face and he lifted his tunic up over his mouth to protect his lungs from the ashes. Emrys was among the wreckage, the flames licking her skirts, and she wasn't moving. Mordred shoved a fallen shelf out of the way with a simple flash of his eyes and then, she was cradled in his arms and they were out of the kitchen, far from the fire. Her dress and face was covered in soot and her skirt half burnt, but she was relatively unharmed and safe.

He pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead and breathed a, "thank the gods," against her skin before he went off in search of Gaius. Emrys groaned in his grip and shifted herself on his shoulder, shaking fingers clutching onto his mail as he moved as fast as possible to the physician's chambers. Gaius was getting ready for bed when he burst through the door and he froze, staring at Emrys with something akin to horror.

"Oh my - _what happened?" _he demanded.

Mordred set his Emrys down on the cot Gaius was, most likely, meant to be sleeping on, and crouched beside her. He would heal her, if he had the magic to do so; all he could do was fume and wish that whoever did this would pay, whether by his hand or someone else's. "I don't know. I - she called for me and I followed her voice to the kitchens," he said, eyes never leaving her dirty face. "Just help her, Gaius."

Gaius regarded him curiously but said nothing, instead he began to check her over, grimacing at the feel of something at the back of her head. "She should be fine," he deduced. "But she needs rest - there's a nasty bump on her head. Can you fetch the king for me?"

He reached the king's bedchambers as quick as he could, ignoring the flare of heated pain racing up his legs, the dryness of his throat. Mordred knocked on the door harsher than he intended, but it served its purpose well. "Sire?"

"_I do not wish to see anyone, Mordred," _his voice wisped through the door, quiet and sombre.

"It's about the queen, my lord," he called, gritting his teeth. He respected the king, thought him kind and honourable, but his distinct lack of caring about Emrys then made him want to run the man through.

The door was forced open, and he saw the king. His eyes were red and dry, face pallid, but he looked angry and irritable as he glared at him. Mordred could _feel _the exhaustion echoing around the young king's body, and his mouth twisted sadly; something ill had transpired between them, and his loyalty to the both of them made him want to fix it though, deep inside of him, his obsession with Emrys relished it, made him want to smirk and mock.

"What about her?" Arthur hissed.

"I found her in the kitchens - she was on fire and unconscious, so I took her to Gaius," he babbled, watching as fear overcame the king. He pushed past Mordred and took off toward the physician's chambers, while he did nothing but chase after him.

Once Arthur saw his wife, he was on his knees beside her and touching her cheek, her neck, anger white hot and flaring against his sorrow. "_How did this happen?"_

"I believe it was the work of your father," Gaius remarked, and raised his brow pointedly.

"We don't know that," he argued, hesitating as he stood.

Mordred hung back in silence, but he took his rightful place beside his Emrys, wiping away at the excess soot on the skin that was bare to him. One ear remained on the conversation, however. "From what Mordred tells me," said Gaius, "he found her locked in the kitchens, unconscious, and on fire. Now, Merlynn may be clumsy, but she's not _that _clumsy. If you don't recall, Uther didn't approve of your relationship with her in the slightest."

"He couldn't do this."

"Smoke has entered her lungs," he added, ignoring Arthur, "and there's a nasty bump on the back of her head, but she will heal. Now I don't think you're in any position to fight me with this, _my lord." _

Arthur glanced at her once, then at him and finally, sighed. "I've always known my father could be cruel, but why would he do this to Merlynn? He knows how much I love her." He paused. "Gaius. What do you know about ghosts?"

"We must force Uther's spirit to return to the other world before he does any more harm and use The Horn of Cathbhadh to reopen the veil between the worlds. But we must remember one thing...only the person who summoned the spirit can force it from this world," he told the king, who's eyes widened.

"It has to be me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Unfortunately, yes, but it is the only way." Arthur was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Arthur, you should get some rest. She'll join you in the morning."

He kissed her on the mouth and left, his head hung and shoulders slumped. Mordred gave the physician a nod and smoothed back Emrys' hair, a small grimace on his face; she looked so weak lying there, injured and broken. It wasn't what she was supposed to look like - she was strong and powerful and _Emrys. _Why hadn't she used her magic on Uther? It worried him, truly, that she was so dependent to hide what she was that she neglected to use the thing that protected her most.

"Mordred, she'll be fine. You get to bed as well," he instructed.

"Yes, thank you, Gaius," he said, and left before he felt any more obligated to stay.

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn woke with a heavy head. All she remembered was running, _so much running and hiding and _fire, burning at her feet. She sneaked from the physician's chambers without waking Gaius - which was a surprise considering she was hacking violently only a few metres from him. Her head was throbbing from the after-effects of the lump at her crown healing, but she managed through the pain. She wanted to be asleep in _her _bed in the arms of Arthur, safe and warm. But another part of her, a sadistic one, felt like shoving her love for Arthur in the face of Uther, fighting back in the only way she could while she couldn't see him.

She reached her bedchamber without much trouble, except for once she was actually there, where the guards by her door grasped either side of her arm to help her through the threshold as she was "stumbling about like a foal, my lady." Once she was inside, she made sure to be silent as she dismissed the men and crept toward the bed. Arthur was sleeping soundly, light snore leaving his gaping mouth, though from the sight of the tangled sheets wrapped around his legs she knew he hadn't slept very well. She smiled and stripped into her under-dress, then lay down beside him.

Merlynn wrapped her arm around his torso and snuggled against his chest; his arm went over her waist and she was tugged close, a sigh breathing into her hair. She brushed her nose against his collarbone and kissed his skin. Always, she had to be strong, the most powerful of them all, but there, she was safe and she was who she was and nobody had to care. She was normal.

"Mer - lynn..." he whispered, breathing deeply into her hair. Merlynn hummed against him and she felt him stir from it, twitching and brow furrowing. Then, his blue, _gods they were so blue and so bright and so lovely, _eyes opened and he was staring at her with a bleary confused look. "What - you're here?"

"Got out," she admitted with a little grin.

"I'm glad." Though, as his fingers moved to her hair, dragging back to her neck, he felt at the back of her head, frowning in surprise. There had been a lump there, as Gaius had said, but her scalp was smooth and flat, as if it hadn't been there in the first place. "Where -?"

"Healed." He smiled, and kissed her again.

Gaius visited them later in the evening. He looked to her with a narrowed gaze, knowing she had sneaked out in the morning while she was still mid-heal, though he didn't mention it. In his hand he held three small tinctures of black potion in his hands, and she noted that he gripped it tightly as though afraid of it leaving him. "The potion," said Gaius, "will allow you to see Uther in his spirit form. Once you are in his presence, you _must _blow the horn. It is the only way you can force him to go back to the spirit world."

"Is it safe?" he asked, eyeing the potion.

Gaius glanced at her as he handed them the bottles. "I can't say I'm entirely sure."

"Just bloody take it, you pansy," she scoffed, swigging the whole bottle down with little else than a small grimace. "See? Not dead."

Arthur rolled his eyes at her and swallowed his own potion, almost gagging at the taste. "Eugh! That's...that's the foulest thing I've ever tasted," he exclaimed, wiping desperately at his lips.

"I've certainly had worse," she remarked. Merlynn thought of the potion she had to taste when Lady Catrina, who was actually a troll, seduced Uther, and winced - _that _was the foulest thing she had ever consumed. To her, this potion was merely a discomfort.

The pair of them left the safety of their bedchambers with only the horn and a torch to protect them from the ghoul of Uther. Merlynn hadn't thought of grabbing Excalibur, and neither did Arthur - her knowledge of ghosts was that they couldn't be touched and, while the sword could kill anything, foolish thinking could get either of them hurt. Every shadow made her further on edge, every trickle of candle fire. Her experience of the wrath of the former king was still fresh in her mind - the spiteful words, the stocks, the death sentence she once received. Though, it was worse this time. Uther hadn't tried to purposely _kill _her before. That thought, alone, terrified her, amplified the anticipation she felt tenfold.

"Arthur...Merlynn," Leon's voice made the both of them jump, and Merlynn was surprised she didn't even notice him open the door ahead of them. A sheepish smile plastered across her face as she notice him smirk. "What are you two up to?" he teased.

"Going for a bit of a walk," she answered, glancing at Arthur. She turned to the shaggy knight, then, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What are _you _up to? I know you're not on your rounds and - no uniform?"

He blushed a bright red, from his neck to his ears. "Uh," he stammered, "well, I'm... Thea wants to teach me poetry, and -"

"Ah, poetry," she couldn't refrain from her snickers. "Well, we'll leave you to Thea and her _poetry, _Leon. Good night."

Leon couldn't leave fast enough, sending a quick smile to Merlynn as he passed. Their love-struck behaviour amused her, and she knew that her choice to bring them together all those years ago was a good one - they had been courting for a little over four years, and neither wished for marriage yet. Thea's father probably didn't agree with their choices, but it didn't sway their decisions.

"You okay there?" Arthur asked, watching her stare after Leon.

"Mm? Oh yeah, I'm just... _happy _for him, for the both of them, you know? Leon's found a girl who isn't in... all this," she waved around wildly, motioning to them, _everything _about them. "She's not evil, not in danger - or dangerous, and I'm happy he's got her."

"Me, to - oh," he froze, eyes unfocused and hand clammy in hers. He was looking to the right of her shoulder and, as she turned, she saw something large, a wisp of black and blue, disappear into the hall.

"Was that...?" she whispered, a chill up her spine.

"My father," he answered for her. He had shuffled closer to her as they looked down the corridor, almost pressed against her back, a trembling hand curling around her hip; he was scared, possibly even more so than she was. Without a word, they moved toward the shadow, but not once did Arthur leave her side, not until the hall became wider. "I never thought the day would come when I would be _hunting _my own father. All I've wanted to do since becoming king is to make him proud." A small noise left her throat, and he frowned. "What is it?"

"Honestly, Camelot is a better place with you as king. Before, it was a crumbling fortress barely held together by the forged ties of your father." Of course she said that to bait him - why would she not? Arthur sent her a look, knowing why she said it and, while he did not approve, he didn't say anything. "Even before you were king you had your own opinions, and you've always done what you thought was right even if your father didn't agree with you."

"I know, but -"

"But _what, _Arthur? How can you even compare yourself to him - yes, you both share conviction and determination, but you're not the same. You're as different as day and night," she continued. Those were the very same words that Kilgharrah said to her about Mordred; but, she was a lot like him, more than the dragon seemed to know. This was different, so very different.

He sighed. "My father clearly doesn't think so," he said bitterly.

They moved further through the lower corridors of the castle. A crash of glass ahead of them, a creak in the storeroom. Uther was sending them in circles - but, something seemed off. It wasn't the thought that Uther was around, but it was something _else, _not magic. He was planning something. "Arthur -" she tried to warn him.

"Check in the storeroom," he interrupted with a frown, looking to where the glass smashed.

Merlynn sighed and turned away from him; she didn't have a torch, nothing to protect her but her magic, which would have to be enough. Did Uther know? If he disapproved of all Arthur had done, wouldn't he had seen all of what _she _had done? She headed into the storeroom, heart pounding, fists clenching into her skirts; it was dark and filled with things that could crush her or, at least, cause serious damage to her body. Shaking, she moved through the shelves, regretting each second - _why _hadn't she gone with Arthur?

Then, she knew Uther's plan. Saw it before the shelves and barrels crashed in her path to the door, isolating her in. It had been the plan all along; Uther was always an excessive schemer. Merlynn shouted Arthur's name once, though she knew it would do little to tell him about Uther's plan. She escaped easily, moving aside whatever was in her way with a flick of her finger - perhaps he did know, using it to buy time, or, perhaps he had no idea about _what _she was. Either way, she was after them, using the chill of the air to lead her to where they were.

Merlynn found herself running to the back door which lead into the council chamber. She could hear them inside, talking, and then there was a dull thud and she knew, just knew, that Arthur was unconscious. She was surprised that he didn't have some sort of brain injury from all the times he had been knocked out. She slipped in easily, quietly, and she saw him. Uther was the same, but _not - _a blue, almost glowing, presence, dark and twisted as usual. His death took away his kindness, his compassion (whatever left of it he had before) and replaced it with his spite and his bitter hatred. He was Uther, but an empty shell of himself, filled with the dominating emotions and thoughts of his past life. He was a tyrant once again.

"Stop," she ordered, stern and cold. "You've caused enough harm, _Uther. _You don't belong here. You _must _return to the Spirit World." His back was tense, and she wondered if, as a ghost, she would be able to harm him physically or if her fingers would just run through his skin now that she could see him.

He turned toward her, and she saw his face; it wasn't the same face he had on his death bed, it was rejuvenated, fresh. "This is _my _kingdom!" he roared, and she felt his anger, washing over her like a heavy wind. Her breath caught; he always terrified her, especially with those eyes, now dead and black and _nothing. _"You think you can drive me from it? You are _nothing _but a serving girl!"

And then, she remembered. Then, she knew. He had no clue - she didn't know how, perhaps he was exclusively attached to _Camelot _rather than Arthur. Either way, she was smirking now and he looked so confused at her sudden change in expression. "Oh, Uther, I am much more than that."

Two swords, locked in a cross behind the small throne dislodged and went soaring toward her head; a flash of gold, and they were lifeless again. He was staring at her in horror, the first emotion she had seen from him other than rage. "You... have magic," he spat the words as if it was acid in his mouth.

"I was born with it," she said, and she had never sounded prouder.

He wasn't looking at her now, but rather his hands, the floor - anywhere but her. "I made you Arthur's servant," he whispered, as though to himself. Uther looked to her again, his eyes blazing again with an anger she was familiar with. "You are a sorcerer."

Despite herself, a chuckle left her lips. She was amused, though she had no clue why. "Even when you were king, magic blossomed in the heart of Camelot. I told you I would protect your son, and I have - I have used my magic for little else then for the protection of this kingdom."

"I will not allow you and your _kind _to poison my kingdom," he seethed, stepping toward her.

She frowned, and she moved forward; he took a step back, as though he didn't want to be tainted by her 'filth'. Merlynn wasn't going to back down to a _ghost. _"You are so very wrong, Uther," she argued, "and that is why Camelot fell when you ruled - your blindness, your complete and utter close-minded attitude. Just because you failed at using magic wisely did not mean you had to try and commit genocide."

"Genocide would mean that you vermin are human - you are monsters, _parasites." _

_"_What makes a person a monster is what they do, not who they are - and it is you, Uther Pendragon, who is the ultimate monster, with your fear and your hatred. You are more horrible than any creature in a fairy tale," she shouted at him, watching him recoil with each word, teeth bared like a wild beast. And that's what he was - a true beast, something from the pit of nightmares. "You are the source of all the evil in this world since the Purge - what has happened is because of what you started. Compared to you, there is no other evil that could compare. Nimueh, Morgause, _Morgana," _his eyes darkened at the mention of her, "they are but creations of your reckoning."

He roared, then, an actual animalistic roar that made her heart stop from the sudden fear of it, his mouth stretching impossibly wide revealing a black abyss that was not human. She reacted on pure instinct, using her magic to push him back through the council door. "At least I know I can't touch him," she muttered to herself, following his flailing, transparent body. _He's either been thrown through the whole castle, or, "_You're just waiting for your perfect moment."

She could feel the air shift behind her, though she kept walking; if he was planning something, she was to be three steps ahead. She found herself in the armoury, lighting the torches with a quick spell so she could see. Merlynn couldn't feel anything, now - the air had just disappeared. Uther was somewhere, but she had no clue where. Spears, maces, axes, _swords _lined her either side as she walked further and further into the room in search of the former king. _This was a horrible idea, _she thought to herself, hearing a clatter from behind.

Merlynn turned and was almost impaled by four spears she was unable to avoid. They trapped her by the cloth of her dress, two beneath her underarm, and the other locked in her skirt. She couldn't move from the wall; the position of the swords made her completely unable to escape on her own. Uther appeared, then, looking angrier and fiercer and more demonic than he had ever been. He moved toward her, his ghostly hand coming to snatch at her throat and, as it loomed closer, she wondered if _he _could touch _her_.

"It will give me _great _pleasure killing you," his voice was naught but a whisper, a breath that chilled her to the bone.

"Father!" Arthur was standing at the door, the horn hanging from his fingers.

"Arthur. _Please," _he whirled around, facing his son. "Whatever I have done, I did for _Camelot." _

He had tears in his eyes; it must have been the most difficult thing for him to do, to see his father stand before him, to be the one to kill him again. "You've had your turn," he said, "and now it's mine." Arthur raised the horn to his lips.

"Merlynn has magic," he shouted, as a last resort, as if it would inspire the same horror in his son.

All it did was make him pause. "I know," he spat, angry as well. "She told me." Uther sneered, glancing at her quickly, then returning to his son. "And you know what? I don't care."

"How could you let this filth on the throne?" he screeched, inhuman and monstrous.

"Because I love her; she has protected this kingdom far more than you or I could," he retorted. And then, he added, his voice soft, "I'm sorry father," and blew the horn.

The very same sound from when he opened the Veil emitted from the horn, but Uther let out another keening noise, writhing in his spot, his body twisting and exploding into black mist. Arthur let out a huffing breath, shoving the horn back into his belt. He looked to her, standing there, the four spears lodged to keep her from moving to him; he stared at the things in frustration, and tugged them out in a haste. As soon as she was free, he captured her in his arms and pulled her close, mouth pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hair. Tears mixed in soon, though they were his, and his shoulders began to shake. She let out a breath of air and pulled him close until his nose was buried in her throat.

She remembered holding him like this when his father died the first time, on their knees on the floor, wrapped around each other. It was worse this time, he lost his father again - this time, to his own hand. Merlynn was only glad he wasn't holding it in as he usually did. It was pure pain she recognised, in the incoherent words he choked out into her hair. To calm him, the only thing she could do (comfort would not settle his sorrow), she whispered sweet nothings to him amongst the wreckage in the armoury, while he merely held her, his palms settled on her lower back, squeezing her tighter when he tried to swallow down his sobs.

He stopped weeping once they separated, though, wiping at his glossy eyes. Though, when they reached their bed, he was holding her again as if he were a child, settling against her chest while she ran her fingers through his hair.

Nothing was said, nothing _needed _to be said. It was just them, and his grief, and her guilt.

* * *

**A Persnickety Haberdashery: **have I? I can't see them :/

**Lunarii:** I have! It's really well written! I'm really horrible at writing reviews because I'm not entirely sure what to say other than, "ahhh that was so great omg difkjvbkfgkjgkjfg" so... :S

**Amour de Pamplemousse:** Ah, yes! I mean, the family rating is good sometimes, but when they stab someone and no blood is coated on the sword as it _should _be, that's when I begin to wrinkle my nose and sigh a lot. To be honest, the only reason I started writing lemons was to practice, and I feel really awkward writing them rather than reading them, so I don't do it often. I know a lot of people ask me to put more in there, but it feels... weird, whenever I do, so I try to keep them at a minimum. And, thank you!

**Corey Youngblood: **I tend to get my writing styles from other stories, so I read a whole bunch of really well-written smut chapters and then started to edit my writing to make it sound a bit... classier, than just the other stuff I've seen, if you get me? ahah.

**MollieWTF: **Oh my god, I laughed really hard at this review. Imagine, though! hahahahaha

**ClumsyCassandra: **There's beautifully done artwork on tumblr of Arthur returning and it's so sweet and I want to die because Merlin's in like, modern wear and Arthur's in his cape and stuff and Arthur hugs him and is like, "what are you wearing?" It's so cute and I had an idea for it, but it seems everyone would kill me if I ended up having it the same as the series, so...

**Sunflowers In Moscow: **I know right, ahh! At first, it was kind of just a thing that was there from _before _season 5 even came out, and I don't remember who gave me the idea, but how the writer's shaped Mordred's character in the damn season made me love him so much and it just... I really like Merdred, and it pains me that I love them because Merlynn/Arthur..

**So, I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter - i'm not sure if Arthur at the end is OOC or not, because I _know _that sometimes he can let go of his emotions and not bottle them in sometimes, so I wanted to bring out his vulnerable side - because, obviously, it is there. Don't hate me?**


	7. Another's Sorrow: Tasting Betrayal

**Again, I'm terribly sorry. I've been trying to do a weekly thing again, but _honestly, _this episode was difficult to write and I'm not sure why? I mean, it's an important story arch in the season, it was just difficult to write it. Whatever. **

**Sorry if it's horrible, but I edited it until six in the morning so I hope it's not? (the reason there are so many scene cuts is because of the change in character point of view, sorry!)  
**

**I've got a few ideas for the end of this - well, the end of this season. Not too sure what's going to happen after, depending on _how _I take this. And, I know you all don't want a sad ending, but if it ends up being one, you guys need to promise to read it, because you could be surprised with what happens. I'm not saying it's going to be sad, but the options that I have for the ending are both bad and good and _yeah. _**

**Also.. Okay, so I was reading a fem!Merlin/Mordred fic, and I realised that this person has been copy-pasting parts of my story into their own and I just have to say that I really don't appreciate it. I've PM'd them privately about it, but I'm not entirely sure if they're going to edit their work and delete what she's copied, or not, but copyright is not a funny thing. It's not right and I really really don't appreciate it, and I know other writers who's works have been stolen feel the same way - this is _my _work, it's what I've written and spent years writing this entire work and ugh.**

**As you can tell, I'm not exactly joyous about this.  
**

**Anyway, ****I GAVE YOU A WHOLE EPISODE LOVE ME.**  


**CHAPTER 7 - ANOTHER'S SORROW  
**

_"Fan the flames_  
_ With a little lie_  
_ Then turn your cheek_  
_ Until the fire dies."_

_-_ 'Burn the Witch' by Queens of the Stone Age. _  
_

* * *

Having Mordred by her side was peaceful, she had begun to think. Merlynn didn't know what it was; his own magic, his kindness, his innocence, but it was Mordred and he was sweet and helpful and she grew to love having him beside her. He was something she never thought she deserved to have - a companion, one of magic and he understood her, much better than she thought he would. She once _hated _him, and she realised how stupid that was. The only way he would become what she most feared was if she did it herself, through neglect and misplaced hatred, like Kilgharrah expected her to.

He expected her to kill him. Once, she probably could have. But now? The idea seemed ridiculous.

Their journeys lasted hours at a time, simple walks and talks in the forest, but it was enough to calm her mind and train her magic. He gave her reason to use her magic, tugging at the sleeve of her dress like a child and laughing as he begged her to bring a flower patch to life again. And she did, because she _craved _using her magic and each time she did was better than the last. Perfecting her magic meant she was becoming stronger, thinking stronger - she was "becoming Emrys", he would say.

Around him, she was no queen. She was no mere mortal, or even Merlynn. She was Emrys. _Always, always Emrys. _Because to him, that was who she was, and she guessed that he was right. Her magic had a name of it's own and it was exclusively her, so she didn't tut him when he named her by the name the Druid's called her by, or roll her eyes when he gaped in awe at her small tricks and bursts of power.

She was thriving with him around.

"This is why we worship you," he whispered, watching as a small open space in the middle of the forest grew and flourished and came to life around them. She didn't mind him calling her 'Emrys', but the thought of being worshipped wasn't exactly a pleasant thought - being queen was _enough. _"The Druids.. to them - to me, you are the most powerful being to ever exist. In the books I read growing up, you were described as a deity, a saviour - you were some higher being, our form of a goddess to pray to like the Disir to the Old Gods. I thought you were magic itself." He said it in bashful wonder, smiling with rose pink cheeks.

"Me?" she wanted to laugh at the idea.

With a roll of his eyes Mordred reached out and boldly ruffled her hair. "Yes, _you." _

"That's ridiculous. Arthur would agree," she retorted, pushing him lightly. Two weeks had passed since they first began their meetings and it hadn't taken long for her to warm up to him - everyone loved Mordred, it was true. It took Lancelot the longest, but soon he was among the knights and laughing with him as though he was an old comrade.

He was silent for a moment as they walked, stepping over fallen logs and thick bushes in their path. "He needs to believe in you more," he said finally, quiet and awkward and she knew he was hesitant to say it.

"He does, it's just... I may be a queen, but I'm still clumsier than a newborn foal so to think that I'm a legendary sorcerer is a bit ridiculous, you know?"

Mordred nodded, then, and offered his arm to her, smiling in that boyish way he did as she accepted it. "I understand," and he never mentioned it again.

They returned late in the afternoon; the bottom of her skirts were caked in mud and there were twigs in her hair from their race - which she won, quite proudly. The people gave them both questionable looks, though they knew better than to linger on their comments about the queen, at least in her presence. Mordred had a similar appearance, though he was smiling, brighter than she had ever seen him and that, in fact, made her smile in return and ignore the concealed judgement of her people. She knew they accepted her as a queen - she gave them hope, as Gwen had told her once - but they also expected her to act like a queen, and she wasn't.

She couldn't act like a queen, not with the magic in her veins and the adventure in her heart.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur was curious about their ventures, as he should be. He wasn't worried, oh no, he knew that the both of them would be fine out there in the forest. He just wondered about what they _did - _what was there to do? All he could imagine was the both of them challenging each other, trying to see who would be the better (of course Merlynn would win), but it didn't sound very interesting. He stood by the window, watching as the both of them returned from their walk - his wife looked less tense than she did leaving, and she was smiling, laughing with the knight, though they didn't appear to be speaking to each other. **  
**

He watched as they glanced at each other once, before she raced up the stairs, gripping onto the skirts of her dress. Merlynn would join him soon, and he waited patiently, but he never moved from the window. His people looked so peaceful and happy, so unaware of the horrors that Morgana and her band of Saxons would bring to them soon enough. The door opened, and he heard her skirt brush against the floor as she greeted him. Soon, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face was nuzzled between his shoulder blades.

"Hello," he muttered, rubbing her arms. "Have fun?"

"Eh. It's odd to talk to someone who has magic, because... I've just never really been able to talk about it mutually, well, with anyone other than Freya," she said and removed herself from him.

"I'm glad you're enjoying your 'gift'." Arthur turned and leaned against the window, watching as the ties on the back of her dress loosened on their own so she could breathe a lot easier. She looked to him and, with a smile, returned to his side and kissed him sweetly, linking her wrists behind his neck. He couldn't resist wrapping himself around her, his palm pressing flat against the small of her back to bring her close.

"I'm glad you've become more accepting of magic," she breathed once they broke away from each other, pressing her lips to his chin.

He couldn't help but smile. There was a light in her eyes, a happiness that was rare to see in someone that had so much weight on their shoulders, but it was there and because of _him _and it brought him more joy than anything else. "Let's get to dinner," said Arthur, rather than saying something heartfelt that would have surely made him grimace from how _sappy _it would have been. "I'm sure you're starving after your little adventure."

Once they supped and returned to their bed-chambers to retire for the evening, the both of them changed out of their clothes and settled into their bed. Arthur sighed at the feel of bare skin against his; he enjoyed the intimacy of love-making, but the simple act of holding her was enough to sate any desire. She slung her leg over his thigh and put her head on his chest, her arm around his waist. He pressed a kiss to her head and pulled her closer. They said their "good nights" and they were asleep in mere minutes.

**[][][][][][]**

Something was amiss in the kingdom, as the warning bell suggested. Merlynn woke before her husband, and she dressed quickly before Leon was bashing at the door and requesting their presence in the spare bed chamber to the east of the castle. An injured visitor; "Mithian", was the name. And she knew it well, hoped she wouldn't see the woman again for a little while longer. The last time she saw the woman she was well on the way to becoming the Queen of Camelot - why was she here _now? _

She had little time to dwell and raced after Leon through twisting halls to the room he had carried her to. The closest to the entry door, the easiest one to have stored her in. Gaius was already inside and at work when she finally made it, though didn't give her orders - she knew what to do. Merlynn collected as many blankets as she could from the cupboards inside the room and the storage areas nearby, while ordering Leon to start a fire to keep her extra warm. 'Hypothermia' was the word that entered her thoughts when she saw the princess, cold and shivering and her skin so pale she was concerned her blood would freeze beneath it.

Her maid leaned on the bedpost, hands locked at her middle. She was an old woman, and Merlynn was surprised to see her perfectly fine considering her age. "I'll escort you to your room," she offered regardless and touched the woman's arm. And she froze. She felt something odd, something familiar, tremor beneath her fingertips; her magic retracted, taut like an arrow strung by a bow, as did her fingers. Merlynn _knew _this woman, but how? The old woman turned away from her then, returning her gaze to Mithian.

"I will not leave my mistress," was the reply, her voice like parchment against stone, yet so unbelievably familiar.

She had to brush the thought off - perhaps her paranoia _was _getting the best of her. "She's in safe hands," she reassured. "Gaius is the best physician in all of Albion, I assure you."

"She means everything to me," she uttered, lowering her head to sniffle.

"Gaius?"

The physician sighed once, glanced quickly at the old maid and said, "Very well. Could you hand me that blanket, -?"

"Hilda," she supplied quickly.

"Merlynn, you can return to bed. I have Hilda to assist me." They gave each other quick smiles and she was off, not without another look to Hilda, who refused to look up from Mithian once to return her stare. There was something off about her - she _knew, _just knew who she was, but could not place a name to her frail face.

**[][][][][][] **

Mithian's trial begun that next morning. A select few of the council were able to view it as an audience, witness to the statement. Mithian was accompanied by her maid, "Hilda", and she was sat on a chair in the middle of the room before the king and queen. Mithian marvelled upon the sight of them both sitting there, a contrast yet completely matched - Arthur was like the sun, golden and bright, a lion with his blazing cape and crown, and Merlynn was the moon, with her fair skin and dark hair, yet she looked so compassionate and kind. She hated that she had to lie to the both of them, considering that she had managed to gain their trust those years ago.

She remembered once growing to love the king and she knew a small part of him loved her, but it was always going to be the woman beside him. Merlynn, the simple, yet obviously not-so-simple servant who now looked like a proper queen. She was not bitter about it, no, in fact she was glad that someone fought against the system of royals. One of them would be dead by the end of this façade, and it would have been _her _fault. Mithian wanted to scream at them that the old woman was Morgana, that it was a trap, but her father was hurt and she would be dead before the second word left her lips.

The story was carefully constructed. A few tears, choked down sobs - her emotions were real, the anger, the despair, but the words were twisted, lies intertwined with truth. "They came at night without warning. We were unprepared. We could not hold them," she could feel the lump in her throat, real as the tears that spilled down her cheeks, though it was for a different purpose. The king and queen stared with such softness and sincerity that it made the whole thing worse.

"This was three days ago, you say," Arthur said, leaning forward on his elbows.

She nodded as she wiped at her tears. "His men," she choked out, "showed no mercy. Cut us down... like _corn." _It was pure truth, though; Odin destroyed her people and the city that held them, didn't even give them a chance to defend themselves.

"Odin has no care for the suffering he causes," was the king's bitter reply.

"And your father?" Merlynn asked, hand on her husband's to keep him calm.

Mithian wanted to weep then, but she held it back in fear of the high priestess behind her. "He was badly wounded, but we managed to escape," she told them, hands settling in her lap.

"Where is he now?"

Her father, as Morgana told her, was the bait to draw the king and queen from their thrones into a place out of their environment. It was a smart war tactic, but not one she wished to be a part of. "We made it almost as far as the border, but he could not continue any further. Odin's men will be searching for us." Merlynn and Arthur shared a look. "It's only a matter of time before they find him."

"I see," Arthur leaned back in his chair, one finger rubbing at his lower lip in a troubling way.

Morgana stepped forward and, to the unseeing eye, the hand that settled on her arm looked like a comforting gesture; she had to refrain from crying out the grip was so tight, nails digging sharply into her flesh. "M - My father is an old man. He cannot fend for himself," she sniffed. "I have no one else to turn to, but you, Arthur. You're my only hope."

The look on his face told her he had taken the bait, and the seed was embedded into the soil; Arthur would meet his fate and she would be the conductor. "Mithian, I understand how you must be feeling and I will do everything in my power to help you," he said, and she almost hated him for falling for it.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered.

**[][][][][][] **

Merlynn stood at the head of table looking over the maps of Albion; among her were a small band of knights - only the _best, _the original comrades - and, of course, Arthur and Gaius. The maps were always a wonder, revealing pathways, hidden passages and routes that were already marked down and the others, scratched on with ink and paint, fresh and old from what they had found on their ventures. Mithian told them where she hid her father, which made it a lot easier on them: the 'Ancient Tomb of King Loath'.

"It's three leagues from our border," Arthur declared with a huff. It would take them more and a few hours to retrieve Mithian's father alone, and then take just as long, if not longer, to return.

"Mithian can lead us there?" Leon asked from across him, looking to Gaius.

The physician nodded. "She is recovering well."

"Now our only chance of getting Rodor back is with speed and stealth," said Arthur. "With just a small group of knights."

"We need to be over the border and back again - all within a matter of hours," Merlynn mused, resting her palms on the table and chewing at her bottom lip. Each time she read over the pathways, checked the border routes again and _again _each seemed too risky. They wouldn't be able to save Rodor quickly enough, she didn't think, without alerting Odin's men. He, from what the knight's relayed, preferred to send them in small groups from five to seven, sometimes up to _ten _men each patrol.

Crossing a border into unwelcoming land was dangerous enough, but _Odin's _territory. It was worse.

"Exactly," he agreed.

Gaius joined them at the table, one hand hovering over her back. "Sire, if I may?" he spoke up. Arthur nodded in consent. "Odin has long been after your blood, if he finds out about this you could have an entire army at your banks."

"That's true, but Odin doesn't know where Rodor is and we do. By the time he's realised what has happened we'll be long gone," it was said with conviction, but she was still troubled and she could see Gaius was too. "_Now, _we'll camp overnight in the Forest of Gedriff and leave with the rising sun."

Everyone left, but she remained. Something was horribly wrong - the plan was good, constructed and almost _seamless. _There were dangers, but she was rather used to it by now with the sort of life they lived, but there was another danger lingering. Hidden and sitting, waiting, but she didn't know where or _how. _Morgana had a part in this, she could feel it.

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked, coming up behind her. His arms circled her waist, chin settling on her shoulder.

"No. Ye - I don't know," she sighed, leaning back into him. "Odin. Mithian. All of it. It just seems like so many triggers to bait you, and I feel as though you're being _baited, _Arthur. I mean, I don't doubt Mithian is a good person, but... I just don't know. Odin's never had problems with Nemeth before - never. I just wonder why he would attack _now _and try to destroy it in the midst of our war with Morgana?"

"I know," he mused. And she knew he meant all of it - all her troubles and her confusion and her paranoia. He agreed with it. "But we have to - _I _have to."

"For your revenge," she replied bitterly.

Arthur tutted at her tone, and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "You're worried," he stated, and she rolled her eyes. "You have every right to be, I know. But this is not only because of _Odin, _it's because Mithian came to _us _looking for help because -"

"Because she knows how valiant you are," Merlynn interrupted. "Morgana has got her claws in this, I can feel it."

"We'll be on constant guard. We have the best knights possible for this, and we have _you." _The meaningful look he gave her was enough to have her lips quirk into a smile, the compliment lifting her spirits; she turned and wrapped her arms around him briefly, her nose burying into his throat. "See, we'll be _fine._"

She hated that she doubted him.

**[][][][][][]**

Mithian was a prisoner of war. "This isn't personal, this is pure business," Morgana would say, when she was struck or shouted at by the woman. The words did little to comfort her, for all she thought of was her father, of what she was doing to the people who cared about her enough to risk their lives for him - they were all pawns, and Morgana was the puppeteer. A mad, powerful puppeteer who had control of all the strings. And once she was revealed as the key pawn, she couldn't bare to look at the faces of the king or the queen, for their distrust and her betrayal would break her heart. **  
**

Her father, though, he was promised freedom. Freedom for Arthur's head.

She once loved Arthur, she did, and the thought of any of those under the house of Camelot made her head ache, but she loved her father more. He was all she had left of her kingdom, of her family. But right now, she was scared and Morgana was distracted and she possibly had ten seconds before the priestess even realised she was gone. Mithian lifted herself from the bed and crept to the pillars that graced the room; Morgana had her back to her, so she couldn't see what she was doing. She was sending a raven, no doubt, to Odin or one of her associates.

That didn't matter. She had to get to someone, anyone, long enough to reveal Hilda for who she was.

Mithian ran toward the door, her feet padding across the floor. The latch was so close, a breath away and - an invisible force wrapped around her midsection and she was sent back sprawling on the hard stone with a gasp. Her wrist flared up in pain, a reaction to the chains Morgana kept over her, as did her ribs that maintained the majority of the fall.

A knock at the door lifted her spirits, if only momentarily, before it was squashed by the hand on her forearm, viciously pulling her up. "Act normal," she hissed with a brief, harsh squeeze to the muscles in her arm. Morgana opened the door, and Mithian was rather surprised to see how tensed she became at the simple presence of the queen - it was not a fierce tension, a need to lash out; there was anger, and sadness, and a great deal of nervousness, especially when Merlynn's eyes washed over her old woman guise with suspicion.

"Sorry, I did knock," she said, a smile lighting her features. She looked to Mithian then, and her features changed; a knowing one, as though she had witnessed the entire thing before her and she just _knew _that Mithian was in trouble. But, she said nothing, only glanced to Morgana again, her smile now much tighter and less friendly than it had been before. And Morgana looked troubled, glancing back at her, then back to the queen, a noticeable tremble in the hand that gripped the door.

"No need to apologise," replied 'Hilda'. Mithian had to give her a small applaud for her ability to keep in character.

"I come baring potions. Gaius no longer has an assistant, so I help when I can. I was also passing by, so I thought -" she motioned to the potion in her hand with a small, sheepish smile, directed at Mithian.

A little laugh left Morgana's lips in the voice she acquired with the disguise, playing the part perfectly but, as she retrieved the potion from the queen, the tremor was back and she was a statue among them. "How sweet of you, going out of your way. Thank you, _my lady," _there was a dark tone that she was certain Merlynn detected but, if she had, she didn't let it show.

Rather, she smiled wider, staring straight into the eyes of the 'maid'. "Well, good night. I shall see you two in the morning."

And, as the queen left, Morgana slumped against the door. She looked drained, even more so just from that meeting; so direct before Merlynn must have been a tricky thing, though Mithian was not entirely sure why. She was curious though, why the new queen inspired so much emotion in the high priestess.

"I think you should practice on your acting, Morgana," she bit out, so unwilling to be subservient to the woman. "I think Merlynn almost saw straight through you."

There was a hiss, and the potion was tossed at her head. Mithian cried out as it smashed into her hair, cutting into her scalp and staining her forehead with the contents. "Do _not say her name!" _She was grabbed the scruff of her neck and shoved at her bed. "I would not test me if I were you. You would not enjoy the consequences," she whispered, her teeth baring like a lion's, and she was gone.

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn truly hadn't lied when she said she helped Gaius deliver the potion just because, but she was curious about the whole situation - of course, she was just as concerned about Rodor as Arthur was, but she knew there was a trick in the system. Mithian didn't look happy there, in that room with Hilda, not at all; she looked positively terrified with those doe eyes of hers, the pale, shaking exterior. Mithian was quite an open book when you were searching for a flaw in her words, in her disposition, she noticed.

She was scared, and Merlynn was still figuring out why. When she told Gaius, he corrected the thought in her mind with a squeeze of the shoulder and a comforting smile.

"Well, she's worried about her father. It's only to be expected."

That was her first thought but, as much as she wished it to be true, it wasn't. "It's more than that, Gaius," she argued. "There's fear, and it's more than just about her father, or Odin. That's not all. Her maid, Hilda. There's something not _right _between them."

"They've both been through a terrible ordeal, Merlynn. They fled their home, barely escaped with their lives. It's not surprising that the strain has taken it's toll," he pointed out, his argument calm while she wanted to scream at him about how he was wrong, of how ignorant he was to ignore the signs of danger.

There was no effort in arguing with him. "Maybe..." she droned, unable to accept it. Despite it, she had surrendered, if not for the moment. "I'll take my leave now."

She didn't sleep well that evening, barely slept at all. Tomorrow, they would leave the safety of Camelot, leaving Gwen to her duty as advisor once again. Merlynn guessed that the position was beginning to get tiresome, but not once did she complain about the mass amount of responsibility they had put on her. She had no other she could trust more than Gaius or Gwen to offer the position, so she was only glad that they took the role willingly.

Gwen dressed her that morning, plaited her hair and packed her satchel so she was fully prepared for the journey. The only promise she had to make was keeping Lancelot safe, and there was a tone in her voice that made her guess that she had asked her husband a similar question. Merlynn swore her allegiance with a kiss to the cheek and a warm hug to both her and Galahad, who danced around their feet over breakfast and her morning preparation.

"There's something missing in this," she sighed as Galahad climbed into her lap. Her arms looped around the child's waist, pulling him close to her chest, lips pressing into the crown of his head. "Something we don't know."

"Arthur knows better than to go against your 'bad' feelings," said Gwen while tying her rolled-up blanket to her old satchel. "Maybe you should delay the mission?"

"Can't. Too much is at stake. Rodor could die before we figure out what's going on, and I know that's all Arthur's thinking about."

She lifted the boy from Merlynn's arms and sent her a small, reassuring smile. "Well, I'm sure things will go just fine. You've been wrong before," she soothed, though it lacked the conviction she needed.

Gwen followed her out to the courtyard as a maid should to her master, though they were anything but; they linked arms and chatted freely about anything _other _than the mission ahead of her. Firefoot awaited her and she handed her things over to the sentry who tied them up while she said her goodbyes to those she would leave behind. As she mounted her steed, she noticed Hilda being helped up by Gwaine and Leon; a wave of nostalgia washed over her, and she remembered being under the guise of "Etheldred", a silly name found in a book forgotten by time, struggling to get up on her horse with the bones turned old from the effects of magic.

She guessed it was just her being an old woman, but the thought wasn't one of sympathy, but rather suspicion. The 'off' feeling she had about Hilda was not there for no reason.

They set off quickly, and reached their rest spot as the sun began to sink into the mountains. Percival told hold of her waist and lifted her off Firefoot with little effort, even though she sat taller than him atop the horse. She let him carry her to the ground without struggle, laughing a little at the sheer size of Percival in comparison to herself.  
As she was set down to her feet, she noticed not too far away from them was Mithian, helped down by Lancelot. He smiled at her briefly then, as he glanced down at her wrists, he looked rather concerned and lifted her wrists up to his face.

"How did you get that?" she heard him ask, and he glanced at her for a moment. Merlynn almost ran over to them.

"I..." Mithian tugged her wrists from his grip, paling rapidly, "I was bound by Odin's men before I escaped." She noticed her look to Hilda, nervous and afraid and not seeking comfort from the maid, but rather to see if she was looking. And looking she was, her eyes narrowed, and she came forward, her bony grip seemingly vice-like on Mithian's arm.

"You didn't tell us that," Merlynn said curiously.

"It's a very painful memory," Hilda interrupted as she tugged the girl back to her. "I'm sure she'd rather not dwell on it."

"Of course. I understand."

But she didn't. Merlynn wanted to return to her rather childish and snappy side, say "well, I'm sure she could speak for herself" but, if her suspicions were indeed true, she didn't want to bate her or let on that she knew more than she let on. She wanted to keep both Mithian and Rodor and - possibly - Hilda safe, depending on who the old woman _really _was.

"There's something not right here," seemed to be the only thing that she could say recently. Because there wasn't, and no one seemed to believe that there was anything wrong - which was positively stupid of them. The only one that had seen sense was Gwen, and Arthur, but he had enough confidence in her, it seemed, and himself that they could get out of anything. But now, she had a flaw in the argument that she could use to her advantage.

"Merlynn -"

"_No, _Gaius. You keep diverting me from this but I _know _what I'm saying!" she barked. Merlynn had _had _it with his doubts. "She lied, Gaius. Mithian told us that she had escaped, and said nothing about being captured and tied up - this is an important detail of a story, if you ask me!"

"She's in shock -"

"Gaius, no. Just... _no. _Something isn't right and you're not going to realise until it slaps you in the face."

Their rest spot for the evening was in the midst of a destroyed house, remnants of pillars and walls that were either eaten away by age or by force. Either way, it became the perfect place for them to spend the evening before they crossed the border into Nemeth. That evening they dined around a fire, eating the food that Gwen packed for them and Merlynn prepared, since she was the only one with any knowledge of cooking.

She walked among the knights, handing bowl after bowl into their eager hands; she was reminded of when she was a servant among them, but they treated her as if she were their sister, or even their mother-figure. Nothing had changed, not even when they teased her or pulled at her braid. And she loved it. Despite her doubt, they still managed to bring light into her fear. As she came toward Arthur, he accepted the bowl and with his free hand dragged her down so she lay between his legs, her back to his chest.

Merlynn saw them snicker and roll their eyes, but they said little. They teased them most days, but the knights were an intuitive bunch; if Arthur looked too stressed, they let them be and kept to themselves to give them a brief moment of privacy. And she was glad for them, as their other men would not grace them with the same. His mouth fell to her cheek and he inhaled sharply, eyes falling shut.

"You're certainly affectionate," she mused with a pleased smile.

"You're warm and comfortable and soft. Can't I enjoy this?" he murmured against her skin, nose brushing her temple. Merlynn chuckled a little, hand sliding back into his hair, fingers twining through the golden locks. For a moment, she closed her own eyes and took a breath, allowing herself, for once, to truly relax despite her troubles, to fall into the sensations of the man behind her.

"Go for it."

And they sat like that. Her leaning against him, and he wrapped around her. They ate their supper in complete silence, listening to the knights chat and horse around as they usually did. But not a word passed between the two; Merlynn was waiting for the moment to bring it up, to break the content mood they had found themselves in. She had to, she knew she did, but she was reluctant to do so.

Through the occasional chews of her bread, she asked, "Are you sure we should be doing this?" Her voice was so quiet she wondered if he had even heard her, but then he sighed and let his bowl rest on the log he was sitting on, and she knew.

"Mm. Your doubt again?"

"Something like that," she agreed.

Arthur pressed his face into her hair for a moment, arms tightening around her, before he was gone and she was cold again. "Odin is a plague on this land," he said, and she turned her body so she could half-face him. "I can't just stand by and let him murder Mithian's father as he murdered my own."

"Odin isn't completely to blame for Uther." Merlynn moved to the seat beside him as she spoke, but not once did she face him; she was, whether he regarded it as truth or not, in partial fault for his death. Odin, Agravaine, Morgana and herself were all to blame for the death of his father.

"Merlynn..."

"I killed him, too. I was the final _push_."

"It was Morgana's work that lead to my father dying in the end. But Odin committed the act with his assassins, not you, or _even _Morgana. You had no idea. That's not your fault," he tried to comfort her, but all she did was smile wryly.

"Listen, I understand why you hate him. God knows, I understand." She swallowed, pausing. "But even you have to admit that there is a lot on the line for one small act of revenge."

"If you were me, would you do any different?" he retorted, and she couldn't lie to him.

Balinor's killer was long dead, but Merlynn still craved to murder the man all over again just so she could see the light leave _his _eyes, the fear and the regret, to spit in his face and demand to know why he stole her father away from her before she their time together even begun. "Not at all," she answered.

Mithian and Hilda walked off an hour beforehand and she watched with a curious eyes as they returned, though the old maid was limping and gasping and looked far too worn out to be moving. Then, she collapsed and Merlynn was on her feet, shouting for Gaius. She wrapped her arm around the woman's torso and positioned her against the wall of the ruined home so she would not fall.

"It's alright. Just breathe in," Gaius soothed as he reached them, hand steady on her upper arm. "That's it."

"I'm fine," she choked out.

He nodded, but said, "Let us be sure all the same."

"It's really not necessary," Hilda insisted and tried to move away from the both of them.

"Hilda, if you're unwell you must let Gaius help you." Arthur and the knights' gazes were all trained on her, and she paled beneath their gaze, eyes lowering to the floor; she couldn't exactly deny them now.

"Well, if you insist."

Later, Gaius came to her with news. Her blood was healthy and flowing strong; "strength and vigour of someone half her age", were the words used exactly to describe her condition. Merlynn once remembered being told something similar when she first turned into an old woman herself - physically, she was old and crippled, as were her bones, but her heart was still very young and strong. Not even Gaius, who never ate more than his fill and lived a healthy life could have a blood-flow so strong.

She dwelled on that all evening. Merlynn had a thought, a small one - Hilda could be someone they knew, someone she knew very well. She had thought she remembered those eyes that seemed so lively against a face so old; green like mint, and grey sometimes, like the sky right before a storm. _Morgana. _But could it? Someone couldn't last _that _long with the aging spell on - she certainly couldn't. If it was, it worried her. If Morgana truly _was _that powerful, then they were all doomed.

Merlynn wondered if she would ever get proper sleep as she woke before the sun even touched the clouds. The trees were like shadows but, among the leaves a golden light peaked through, hues of pink and orange streaming alongside it. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, but didn't move as she watched the world around her come to life. The next to wake up was Lancelot, and they shared a smile as their eyes met.

"You're up early," she noted with a yawn.

"Galahad is usually awake about now. Guess it's become a habit," he shrugged and helped her to her feet.

She smiled, but it looked more like a sympathetic grimace than anything. "Unlucky," she chuckled.

Lancelot's grin turned sour then, and he dragged her off away from the rest of the camp. "So, I hear you're spending more time with Mordred?"

"Don't be jealous," she teased. "You're still my very best friend."

"I'm not jealous," he huffed. "I'm concerned. Merlynn, there's... something not right about him. You've told me about him before, right? The 'Druid boy destined to kill Arthur'?" She nodded. "I thought that would have raised your warning bells."

"It does - it did. He's not after murder or bloodshed - he wants acceptance and friendship. If you haven't noticed he basically kisses the ground that Arthur walks in," she argued, voice quiet. She didn't want to alert rest of the rescue party, who were still in the throes of their slumber, even if they were out of hearing distance.

"He's also in love with you."

Merlynn laughed at that, quiet and short and she leaned against the nearby tree. "That's ridiculous," she snorted. "All he's doing is helping me with my magic. I've told you about that too, right? I've always wanted someone to practice magic with, and guess what? I found someone. It's him, and he... he's my friend, alright?"

He sighed, and she knew he wasn't finished with the idea yet; but he had, to her relief, been defeated for now. "Alright." She kissed his cheek and then walked off.

Mithian approached her later that morning once she called for a waterskin refill. Doing mundane tasks, things that would have been expected of her as a servant, usually distracted her from her troubles, if not for a little while. The princess' eyes were wide and so very brown as usual, but they lacked life - she was reminded of a doll, porcelain and cold and dead. That was what Mithian looked like, at a glance. But then, when she smiled and accepted the hand on her arm, she saw fear.

"Good morning, Merlynn," she greeted, her voice coated in honey.

She frowned a little, but managed to reply, "Morning. Need your waterskin filled?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Merlynn wandered down to the small creek Leon found on his patrol and crouched, setting the skins beside her. Six, she realised, were heavy in bulk and would be much heavier once filled, but she didn't let that thought dwell as she dunked them in the clear, cool water. Her reflection stared back at her; too odd to be beautiful, asymmetrical and just plain _odd. _Her big ears, usually hidden by her mess of curls, were clearly visible from the braid her hair had been pulled tight into, and she tugged at the lobe of her left one with a sigh. She turned away from her reflection, and to the left - and there, she saw something.

Words, carved into the stone. A name, in particular, one that made her blood run cold; "Morgana". _She was right. _Merlynn got to her feet and ran back to camp, waterskins be damned. She was so close, so very close - but, as she tried to jump over a small bush, something held fast to the back of her tunic and she tossed forward into the nearest tree. Her head made most of the impact, splitting against the bark; blood already oozed, thick and sticky, over her right eye, and she gasped, wiping it away weakly.

She faced her attacker though, even though she was clearly at a disadvantage. 'Hilda' smirked above her and, with a flick of her wrist, magic swirled around her throat and tightened, choking her. Even though she couldn't breathe and her vision was becoming fuzzy, the irony of the situation didn't escape her. Merlynn wondered if Morgana noticed it to; the catalyst of her fallout, the reason she was cursed upon. Her attempt to save the kingdom left Morgana half-dead on the council chamber floor, choking on her last breath. As she smirked beneath her old woman disguise, she knew she recognised it and, amongst the pain, she returned a half-hearted one of her own before her eyes slid shut.

She woke sometime later - when, she wasn't sure. All she could see was Gaius, head bowed and hand settled over hers. As she tried to sit herself up, to make sense of things, she felt a sharp throb in her head and gasped, fingers reaching up to touch the small wound at the side of her forehead. It wasn't completely healed, though she guessed magic helped it get where it was. "Gaius?" before he could cheer or smile or kiss her cheek, she continued, "Hilda is Morgana. I was right. She's been using some kind of aging spell." He gaped at her, and she wasn't even guilty about her smug tone. "I told you something was wrong, but you didn't believe me, did you?"

He ignored her victory, "That explains why she's always so tired."

"Mithian... she tried to warn me, but I couldn't get to Arthur before she got to _me _first," she explained.

"And she very nearly killed you Merlynn!"

Merlynn grinned in amusement, though she was a bit taken aback by his clearly visible rage. "Well, thank god for your sorcery, right?"

"Indeed, but please don't make me do that again," he begged, this time kissing her hair. "I'm not sure my heart can take it."

Gwaine was quick to join them after a moment, branches in his arms that she guessed had been used as a distraction but, when he noticed her, they were forgotten and she was replacing them. He kissed her head twice on the uninjured side, whispering thanks into her hair and she wanted to join him in his joy, but she had more important things to accomplish. Once she was on her feet, she took the sword Arthur had left for the physician and tugged on Gwaine's hand.

"They're all walking into a trap."

Nothing more was needed to be said. He seemed to just _understand _that she knew what was going on, even when he didn't, and accepted it; for that, she was glad to have him. Arthur and the rest were, by Gwaine's track deductions, an hour's _walk _ahead - and so, they ran. Ran and ran until there was an ache in her ribs and she was sure she wouldn't be able to take it any longer. To her luck, the road was ahead, which meant the tomb was nearby.

It also meant Odin's patrol.

"Hide," she whispered, and she was shoved down a small hill.

They pressed themselves against the wall of the hill until the patrolling sentry were gone and unable to catch hint of them. Merlynn climbed up the side of the 'hill' and ran in the opposite direction of the guards toward the tomb, which she could see clearly through the tree line. It only took a few minutes but, once they reached it, she saw just how many men Odin had to his disposal. Their knights were surrounded by each corner and were being herded off, and she couldn't see Arthur, or Mithian - they must have been inside, she guessed.

"We're too late," Gwaine cursed.

"Not if we even out the numbers," she remarked, nudging him. "I'll go for Arthur."

"Good luck."

Merlynn was only glad to be alone once she crept through the outskirts of the seized tomb; she could use her magic freely, and she felt less guilty about what she had to do now that she was the only one to see it. A mere twitch of her fingers, and their necks snapped with a sickening pop. She only closed her eyes briefly to mourn the lives of the men - but only briefly.

She would have to regret later, but she doubted she ever would. Especially not for nameless men who would have no trouble doing the same.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur had tasted betrayal; it was bitter and like curdled milk on his tongue, horrible and revolting and he hated that it was there once again. _How many times? _he asked himself as one of Odin's men shoved him to his knees. _How many times can a single man be betrayed? _And he should have known. Mithian's voice had become thick and quiet with tears, muffled sobs against the fur of her cloak. When he had stepped into that burial chamber, she refused to look at him and she was cowering against the wall, as if he would turn Excalibur on her.

He wanted to, for a split second. But then he saw her race to her face, watch them cry into each other and he knew, then, that they had all been puppets. Odin was the master puppeteer, the cruel, vengeful man he was. Odin was arrogant and dangerous, with a walk that was more like a strut and a voice rough and fierce; when he was a boy, he once thought Odin was a bear because of his voice and his largeness alone. When a sword was pressed to his throat, he did not react, did not give the man satisfaction.

"Arthur Pendragon. At last. I have waited many years for this moment. You killed my son," that ferocity of his tone faltered, and it took a heavy swallow for him to continue. Arthur saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, unbridled and unable to be hidden and he wanted to smirk, wanted to use it to make him hurt _more _but that pain was his own as well. "You took what was most precious to me and now you will pay the forfeit."

"And not a moment too soon," Hilda cackled, stepping forth from the darkness. He turned toward her voice; she was hunched, though she looked strong, stronger than a woman her age should look. She was glaring at him with eyes too familiar - it made his head ache. "You are not alone in having waited for this moment Odin. Appearances can be deceiving, dear _brother." _

And she smirked, then, and he laughed, short and hitched, lacking all humour.. "Morgana," he said, his voice no higher than a whisper. He feared he could speak no louder in that moment. Again, she stood before him; _again, _he was helpless.

"And now, you _will _pay the forfeit," Odin repeated, pressing the sword even deeper into his throat.

"My father's life," he spat. "That wasn't enough."

"No."

"So be it. But understand this Odin, you kill me and you will have all of Camelot to answer to," he warned.

"Camelot is _nothing _without it's king," he hissed.

He laughed and it was completely genuine. "Then you clearly don't know my wife," he snorted. "he will find you and hunt you down and bring my knights alongside her and she will not rest until you're dead at her feet." Arthur's words were the truth - if he died today, Odin would be dead by the morning.

"I will deal with your woman," he leered, "and your knights soon enough, but now your time has come."

Odin spoke no more and raised his sword and, doubting himself, doubting _Merlynn, _his eyes slid shut to accept his fate. She wasn't here - she was unconscious on a slab of stone in a broken down home, without him and he, without her. _So, _he mused, _this is what she meant by_ _not being able to survive without her. _Arthur was trying to turn his thoughts to her, to each part of her that he loved so, but he couldn't. He wasn't going to die. _No, not yet. _Arthur heard _her _muttering, words he knew little of, words he would never understand, but he heard them and his eyes snapped open.

There was a crack of thunder and then the room began to shake. Arthur grabbed Excalibur from the table and fought as best he could amongst the heavy rattling of the entire chamber. He managed to take out three of Odin's men and elbow the king in the stomach while he could, until Merlynn took him by the arm and pushed him toward the opening in the wall. Once the four of them were out, they began to run.

"So much running," he heard Merlynn curse, and sped up to tease her.

Odin, it seemed, was not finished yet, and Arthur would have been surprised if he was. Alongside him were ten of his men - the last who managed to survive, he gathered. In fact, the small disruption of 'Emrys' power seemed to encourage Odin _more _than ever, and he was shouting and jeering with his men as they chased after the four of them. Few men attacked them, only strays from patrol but they were dispatched of quickly. Rodor helped with the fighting but soon his old, weakened body could not take the exhaustion any longer and he collapsed with a grunt.

"Leave me," he uttered over Odin's cries. Percival lifted him up as easily as if he were a child, slinging his arm around his shoulder.

"Well that's not going to happen. You're the reason we're here."

He tried to move Mithian toward them. "_Leave me. _Save her."

"Follow the ridge line," he said finally in resignation.

"What about you?"

"We'll lead them the other way."

"No!" Mithian almost leaped at them, taking hold of his tunic.

"This is between me and Odin," he pried her from his person and nudged Merlynn. "You need no further pardons."

Arthur was, even to his own surprise, ready to face Odin. No matter what the outcome was, he knew he needed to face the man soon. If he ran, not even the walls of Camelot could protect him from Odin's wrath - their bad blood wouldn't leave, not unless one of them died, or sorted their issue out. He rather hoped for the latter. Killing one king was rather enough. He captured Merlynn's hand in his own and ran, turning left while the others went right. Odin would follow - he just _had _to.

"Do you have a plan?" She was panting already - he guessed it was exhaustion from her magic - but she ran even faster as the cries grew louder, and tugged on _his _hand when he lagged behind.

He didn't answer her because he didn't know. Arthur just hoped that, if worst came to worst, they would be able to crawl out of the fray as they had done on more than one occasion. His feet sloshed against the mud, and he almost slipped, and he began to notice that the walls were getting higher and the trail was coming to a dead end ahead. Odin's men were shouting behind them, louder and rowdier and their weapons were slamming against the walls of the trench, mocking them. And when they reached the dead end, he sighed in defeat and looked to Merlynn; she looked a little troubled, but she sent him a smile regardless and turned to face the oncoming force of King Odin.

It was two against twenty, though he didn't doubt that they could take them all with little trouble. After all, Merlynn alone was the force of the sun and he was the esteemed crowned King of Camelot.

"I want to do this _myself," _sneered Odin, shoving his men backwards.

He swung his sword with smug expertise, and they began. Arthur hadn't doubted that he would be a fine swordsman; in fact, facing _Odin _in a single battle was enough to make his hair stand on end. But he held Excalibur, and it was the greatest sword to ever exist which gave him more confidence than ever to hold such a thing, to call it his. He parried and fought, and saw the glint of gold of his weapon each time it collided with the plain steel of Odin's. His men jeered and shouted for their king, while Merlynn remained completely silent - shouting, sure, egged him on, encouraged him, but she was watching with those trained eyes he knew were just _waiting _for what she knew would inevitably happen.

Arthur was younger and taller and _stronger _and he had a sword begotten in dragon's breath.

He had Odin on his knees with a powerful kick to his shin and a move that his father had once taught him - the irony didn't escape him - to remove the sword from his hands. Excalibur was at the other king's throat in a second, and he dug in, slow and merciless and he wanted it to last, wanted to see him gasp and _bleed _and cry from the agony Arthur would put him through. But then _she _cried, in a voice that was more Emrys than Merlynn, "Arthur,_stop!_" and he stopped.

"Think about what you're doing." He had thought about it, in his thoughts and in his dreams, watching as the man who killed his father writhe beneath his hands and sword in the most pain a human could feel. "This will achieve _nothing. _I know you want to, believe me, I know - _gods, _do I know - but you can't. Killing Odin will cause more bloodshed than it is worth." He hesitated; she was right - _again. _Arthur wanted to sigh. "How many times have you talked about uniting this land?"

Odin laughed wetly. "This must be the wife then? I see now," and she looked confused, staring at the both of them with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Arthur wasn't going to explain. "_Finish it,_" he hissed at him, teeth bared like a wolf, hungry and dangerous.

"And then what?" he spat. "Your people will seek they're revenge. A war without an end!"

"There is no other way." The king - the one to be feared, the most dangerous king to ever live in Arthur's time - pressed himself into the sword, only grimacing briefly as the blade cut into sensitive flesh and drew blood.

"There _is _another way. In return for your life, you must return Rodor to the throne of Nemeth," he bargained. It was all he could offer.

Odin chuckled again and spat at the ground by his feet. "Even if I agreed it solves nothing. What about _us, _Pendragon?"

"A truce," he replied simply. "Binding our kingdoms to peace."

"Never."

Arthur huffed, breathing through his nose to prevent himself from _shouting _at the stupid old man for his stubbornness. He didn't think he would be able to handle a war with Odin; too much blood would be shed, too many innocent lives taken because of the arrogance of a king. "So, this is what you want? To die here - this is no noble death for a king, this is a weak, petty death. You'll condemn this land to a river of blood," he removed the sword and slid it into it's sheath and hoped to prove his sincerity. Odin didn't move. "You cannot let it end like this, Odin. The blood will never wash off."

He was trembling from where he kneeled. "You killed my son," and his voice was so full of sorrow, of remorse, so different from the fierceness of the vengeful king. He never meant to kill his son; they were both young, and he wanted to prove himself to his father. Arthur could never forget the look on his face in that final moment over the roars of the crowd and the cries of Odin's men; a look so vulnerable and scared, the thought would possibly remain in his mind for the rest of his life.

But, he was not the only one with blood on his hands. "You killed my father!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "We have both lost much at the others hand. Let us lose no more. I am offering you the chance to end this. Take it." Odin lowered his head and didn't move to take his offered hand; he shoved it further toward his face, almost forcing him to _see _it. "_Take it." _

And he did. It was hesitant and he was glaring at Arthur the entire time, but he took the hand and shook it. "So be it. A truce it is."

* * *

**And that's the end of that. Hope you enjoyed it :3 **

**DawnScarlet19610:** To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to do things myself. I've got brief ideas in my head - each span over a few episodes - so as soon as I pick one, it'll tie everything together to the final plot.

**MollieWTF: **Well, because I love characters who are interesting, who have a developing focal point in their lives. And to see him from the beginning to the end it is clear that he was good, purely good, and he was innocent and all he wanted was acceptance - the only reason he turned evil was because of Merlin's constant distrust and accusal and, of course, the death of Cara. I felt mad at him for a while, but I loved him too much to just kill him. His character has depth and it's twisted and just _guh _Mordred.

**Lunarii: **Welp, I gave a _whole _episode so~ go forth and watch it!

**intensewhatever: ** ha, thank you for telling me! I changed it as soon as I could c: (and thank you, by the way)

**Bones: **omfg I didn't realise until now - wow, secret trepidation~

**Please review and tell me what you thought about this chapter :) And Happy Australia Day!**

**Much love,  
**

**Khaleesi~  
**


	8. The Disir: Judgement and Fate

**I'm so very extremely sorry. Yes, it's another late update and yes, I'm very sorry. But it's been hectic and writer's block has been a massive bitch and sigh, yes. Okay. I've been lazy and procrastinating as well. I tried to use the archiveofourown platform for writing, and that's been helping, which is why the style is a bit different - tell me if you enjoy this new (kind of) style of writing!**

**How's everyone been, also? **

**Anyway. So at least the chapters long (almost 10, 000 words) which is compensation for something, right? I haven't even finished the episode, but I've been eager to finally show you something since it's been so long since I updated. Also. Fun fact: in my AU story, I had the triple goddess in that too - the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone - who came to Merlynn and told her that she would bring a darkness to Camelot, or something. If I still had my fucking file I'd be able to add that to my story and therefore, make the Disir a lot more terrifying. I don't even remember what I called them. **

**CHAPTER 8 - THE DISIR**

_"I, I can't promise you_  
_that I won't let you down_  
_And I, I can't promise you_  
_that I will be the only one around_  
_when your hope falls down."_

_- '_Hold on to what you believe', Mumford and Sons. (idek if this song goes with the chapter, but it goes with the episode and I really love M&S)

* * *

"Sword work is important. Countering and blocking at the right moment could save your life."

Mordred would have much rather preferred to use magic, but he was in Camelot and it was forbidden - if only for the moment. The king permitted he and Emrys - _Merlynn, it was Merlynn, he had to call he__r_ - to use their magic outside of the castle, in the forest on their walks, so she could get stronger and loosen up a bit more. He was glad for it, even though the limitation on his use was mildly frustrating. He was used to it, anyway, being among the bandits and the thieves for the most part of his adolescent life.

In fights, he would use it, small tricks to win. But that was when he was travelling, a nomad. Here, Arthur would know and he would be in serious trouble; he did not want King Arthur to lose faith in him, to make him leave Camelot, leave Emrys. So he watched and he listened and he practised as any knight-in-training would do, and he learnt. He was a novice in sword fighting, better at defending than striking, as he learned from the rare tussle or two with whoever decided to attack him. But the fights were basic, simple - slash, kill, defend. Arthur taught him how to parry and block and defect, small details like weak points; he was becoming better, faster and now he could beat Sir Elyan in a practice fight.

"Sir Mordred, you'll be trying to beat _me_ today," the king said with a wide smile, and he swallowed thickly.

He hadn't fought Arthur before. The worst was, perhaps, Lancelot or Percival. But he had seen him fight Gwaine once in training and when he escaped from the slave wagon - he was much stronger, more skilled than he was, graceful and powerful. He never wanted to draw swords with the man, ever. "I am?" he replied dumbly.

He laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and shoving him out to the middle of the field. The strike came before he could even take a breath and he jumped back clumsily a, quite girlish, yelp, leaving his slack mouth. Mordred tore his sword from its sheath to block the next hit; the attacks were relentless, and he wanted to shout at the man, tell him to calm down. But he couldn't. No, he wanted a good image of him - Emrys was watching, and if he backed down, if he did not fight, she would laugh and he would be called the one who surrendered. Mordred fought back, though it was blocking more than anything, just trying to keep himself from falling.

He could hear her laughing already from the sidelines, surrounded by her friends, the knights. Everyone was watching them now. He was the new knight, the one Arthur seemed to hold in the highest esteem - or, at least, that's what Emrys told him. '_I made a bet that you would lose_.' Mordred froze in surprise as her voice wisped through her head which gave his opponent the perfect opportunity to whack him in the shoulder with the blunt weapon.

"Keep it together, Mordred!"

He blinked and glanced to her. She only smiled, wide and teasing as she leaned on Lancelot's shoulder; she knew exactly what she was doing. Emrys was making him lose on purpose by distracting him, and she was succeeding. Mordred grit his teeth and tried to ignore her laughing, both outside and in his head, fighting back with more vigour than he was before. There was no way to be rid of her, or to keep her from distracting him - a small part of him wanted her to keep talking to him, just so he could have her sweet voice in his mind.

Mordred lost in the end. A swipe to the knees and a sword at his throat and he was on his back in the sopping wet grass, staring up at a smug-looking Arthur. He surrendered with little struggle and accepted the hand that was shoved into his face.

"You did good." The compliment made him beam. He only wanted Arthur to be proud of him; he was his king, after all. "Very good. I may have to start trying soon - but you just need to work on keeping your head focused on the person attacking you. For now, at least."

"Of course, my lord," he replied. Mordred looked to Emrys; she was grinning again, and coins were being pressed into her open palms - ten of the twenty-five knights around them were looking rather abashed, among them were Gwaine and Percival. He was glad, though, that they had enough faith in him to bet against Arthur.

'_You did very good - at earning me twenty gold coins,_' she teased, but she was in deep discussion with Lancelot and there was no change in her posture. She's getting better, he thought, as Arthur led him away. _Good._

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn hadn't left the castle in a week. She was almost ready to tear the walls with her fingers, to scream and shout and attack whoever was in her path. She hadn't used her magic either, which was ultimately making it worse. Mordred was always training, it seemed - Arthur was pushing all the knights with double training shifts. _War is coming_, he would say when she asked for them to take a break, and she did not doubt him. She could feel it, creeping in through the cracks in the walls, black as poison. Even if she wanted to leave, go out into the forest and use her magic, she wasn't able to. Piles of parchment to read over and sign and she needed to write letters to other kingdoms, so her time was always consumed with work.

The only time she ever saw Gwen was in the mornings and in the late evenings - otherwise, she would be off, taking care of Galahad and teaching him how to be proper or cooking meals for her family. Merlynn couldn't steal that from her. So, she sat. Alone, always alone. Reading a book or laws or whatever was scratched along the inches of parchment that stacked high on her desk. But when she read, she could not retain. Her boredom reduced her to an empty shell of absolutely nothing. The only thing that was ever alive inside of her was her magic as it itched and curled in her very being. It was a live thing, a trapped beast in a cage.

When Arthur returned after another day of training, she went to him and kissed him, but she barely even registered the affection. He didn't even seem to notice; if he did, he didn't ask. "Mordred used a contre quarte to my high-line attack," he told her, slipping off his chain mail and undoing his belt. "It was skilfully done, really." He paused and looked to her. "You do understand what a contre quarte is, do you?"

"A type of parry, beginning in the quarte position, ending with a twist of the wrist," her voice lacked much enthusiasm, or care, but rather practised cool. Merlynn sat again, straight and poised and far too quiet to be herself. Even she noticed.

Rather then question her, he gleamed with pride. "You _have_ been paying attention. I guess the last few years have done you well." He went behind the screen, but continued to talk, "What do you think of the young Mordred?"

"He's well on his way to becoming a fine knight, I think," she remarked.

"As do I. We have many fine nights in Camelot, but I'll be damned if I don't think he'll be one of the finest, and I'm determined he'll receive nothing but encouragement from me." When he came out from the changing screen, she was smiling; a real one.

"Good," she said, kissing him. She was excited for him - whenever they went off for walks, he would gush over her husband, telling her how loyal, how great he was. She was glad for it, his unexpected adoration for Arthur; it made her think that perhaps his destiny wasn't to kill in the end, that perhaps he was not what Kilgharrah expected him to be. Maybe he was good after all. He would be a fine knight, that was for certain. "May I leave the castle today?" she asked, then. She wasn't made to be a queen, to be stuffed in the castle walls like a trophy. She was a wild beast rather than a domestic cat.

"Not today, Merlynn," he replied and gave her a regretful smile. "Another meeting to attend."

Merlynn wasn't in the mood to argue with him. So, she contended with a sigh and a nod; resolute. Arthur kissed her on the head, lips warm against her, and lifted her from the chair. Tucking his arm beneath the crook of her elbow, she was lead from the room by her husband toward the council chamber. She was dressed as a queen should be; a red gown, impossibly tight around her bosom and arms, a wreath of flowers pinned to her hair and slippers not made for running about and going on a dangerous quest. Merlynn was greeted by the knights, who smiled and hugged her briefly - not too tight, or friendly as usual, but polite and sweet and she held on for a few more seconds just because. Gwaine's hug, especially, was disappointing because while his smile was strong, his hug was lacking the lustre she was used to. She pulled away with firm lips and turned to the next person - Mordred. With his little smile, he wrapped his arms around her middle as she did the same to his shoulders.

_'Emrys,'_ he muttered, and she felt a warm press of something against her head. His lips hadn't moved, but she felt the kiss anyway. _'Thank you for making me lose yesterday.'_

_'It was a pleasure,_' she teased back, easy and comfortable, as though they were never enemies.

Arthur's hand was warm against the skin of her hand as she moved from Mordred. He, with a kiss to her mouth and a smile on his lips, walked her to her place beside him and pulled the chair out in the most chivalrous fashion. She giggled a little and set her hands into her lap as he joined his place beside her.

"Good morn, fellow men. Leon, what news from the East?" he began almost immediately.

"Serious news, I'm afraid, sire," Leon replied. "As you know, a few days ago, our garrison in the Forest of Brechfa intercepted the man who goes by the name of Osgar."

"The sorcerer?"

Merlynn's ears perked up and she looked up, making eye contact with Mordred. They said nothing to each other, neither word nor thought, but she could guess to what exactly he was thinking. Kin. But he was the enemy, he was 'evil' and 'dangerous' and they had to hate them.

"The same. They were trying to apprehend him when he used his powers to escape. I am sorry to report... Sir Ranulf was mortally wounded." And everyone's eyes dropped.

Arthur's jaw was locked, tight and constricted and his grip was now tight on her arm. "S - sir Ranulf?" he echoed, swallowing thickly. Then he said, "Place all the men in the east territories on high alert."

"Yes, sire," Leon nodded curtly.

"I -"

"I would like to lead a patrol to bring this Osgar to justice," Merlynn announced abruptly. The king's head whirled, eyes narrow and jaw tightened even more.

"N -"

"I'm more of a people person than you," she argued, though to others it would seem playful; really, she was completely serious. "I can talk to him and ask him what his intentions are."

"But what if he doesn't want to talk?" he bit out.

Merlynn took a breath to calm herself and turned her body toward him. "Arthur, I will have a band of the finest men to protect me, and let's not forget that I am no simple queen," with that, she turned to the entire court and smiled. Not another word was said.

**[][][][][][]**

"You're not going."

Arthur was well aware that she was stubborn, more than the ordinary servant. Especially now that she was queen, and did not have to follow him at every click of his fingers. But then, she thought, _so was he_. Possibly much more than she was - that was why she wanted to slam his head against a wall more often than not. Merlynn stood behind the changing screen as he shouted incessantly at her while she changed into a much looser, more comfortable gown. It helped clear her head.

"Arthur -"

"No!" he burst out. "No. You're not going. I'm not waiting here while you go off after a sorcerer."

"Are you forgetting that I was born with magic?" she retaliated. "I'm the best out of the two of us to speak to a sorcerer." Merlynn wasn't going to back out on her chance to leave the castle - especially, if she was able to speak to another member of her kin. She understood his concern, after all, because she knew he loved her and only wanted to keep her safe, but she still could not fathom it - she was his protector, the one to bend and shape to his will, not be protected by him.

Arthur grit his teeth, "Merlynn, you could be hurt."

"Yes, and so could you. Let's not forget that I'm supposed to be the one protecting you, right? Going off after a sorcerer is doing _exactly_ that," she argued, setting her palms flat against the desk.

"Why can't I come?"

"Because we can't have Gwen watching over the kingdom every single week!"

"I'm the king!"

"You seem to be forgetting that I'm the queen, which means I have the same authority as you."

He chortled. "Not really."

She gaped at him, and he winced. "Are you really trying to demand male dominance over me _now?!_"

"That's not what I -"

"No! I'm going, and that's that."

Merlynn huffed and turned away from him. She was done with him, done with it all. It would be much easier to slap him round the head and storm off, but she thought that would be far too kind. No, she was going to walk off. Not give him the satisfaction. Yes, that was exactly what she was going to do. She left and didn't look back once, not once. Merlynn went to Mordred, though; since she forced the authority of the mission upon herself, she would have to band together a group of men. The knights, well, that was the obvious choice. Strong and powerful and they all shared a similar bond - more than the others, especially. But Mordred was new, he was young and fresh and eager to go off on an adventure, and she was not going to keep him from that. Besides, Osgar was a sorcerer - one of them - and she was sure he wanted to talk to another, just as she did.

He knew it was her before she opened the door; she guessed he could feel her magic in the very same way she did his. Mordred swung the door open and grinned at her, though it lessened as he took in her dishevelled appearance. "Are you -?"

"I'm fine," she answered flippantly, and walked inside. "In fact, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" he was curious, wide-eyed and a little pale, as if she was about to punish him.

A little smile twitched on her mouth. "I would like for you to join me on the patrol to the Black Mountains."

As if she had presented him with the finest gift to ever behold, his eyes, so very blue like cornflower fields, lit up and he almost seemed to bounce over to her, taking her hands in his grasp. "Me? To Brechfa?" he gasped out.

"Yes," she was grinning now, and he pulled her close, arms wrapping tight around her midsection. Merlynn laughed and removed herself from him, saying, "Prepare to ride at dawn, Sir Mordred."

"You won't regret this, Emrys," he was gleaming. "I promise."

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur had become far more reasonable the more she seemed to ignore him. Finally, he must have realised just how serious she was to take this mission alone and understood her reasons. At least she hoped this was the case; no doubt he was still angry, still resentful that she was going alone - without him, was his definition of the word - and he was to stay at the kingdom. Gwen had said that she wasn't fussed about watching over again, but she couldn't do that to her again. She was a maidservant, not a queen, or a high lady. Merlynn wasn't a true highborn, nor was she pretending to be, but she was whatever Arthur needed her to be. If he wanted her to be a queen, then she would try to be a queen. Gwen wasn't meant to have that responsibility - taking care of a child like Galahad was enough responsibility as it was.

The next morning she returned to her bedchamber (she slept in her old room over night) and washed and dressed silently, trying not to wake Arthur. He had a fitful sleep again, she noted, taking in the tangled sheets and his damp forehead. Gwen kept as silent as she could, too, braiding her hair and packing her back quickly so she could leave without any more time wasted than necessary. But, when she went to him, kissing his cheek and wishing him well, he woke and captured her wrist.

"Be safe," he muttered, mouth on hers, chaste and sweet. "Please."

"I'll be home soon, I swear," she promised. Merlynn felt guilty that she was leaving now, leaving him behind, especially since he looked so sad with his sleepy eyes. But she had to, because he was usually getting himself in trouble and here, in the safety of Camelot (which was stupid to say because the danger was usually inside the kingdom) among people who loved and protected him, he would be fine. "I'll speak to Osgar and then come back."

"Kill him. Or bring him here," he said, though it sounded like an order.

"We'll see," she replied, and kissed him once more.

Merlynn stood and lifted the blankets back over his body so he could get back to sleep. Then she made a motion to Gwen, slinging her satchel onto her shoulder. Her maidservant took her sword, one that was not begotten in dragon's breath, nameless until she saw fit to give it a title, and followed her from the room. She was, apparently, the last to join the travelling party in the courtyard. The knights, save Mordred, were all saddled and atop their horses, waiting for her to lead them on.

"You sure you haven't forgotten everything, Mordred?" Leon asked him.

Mordred paused, and looked at them with innocent curiosity and concern. "Do you think so?"

"Isn't he missing a dagger?"

"I can't see a waterskin."

"His boot. He's missing a boot, I think."

Mordred, by this point, seemed to realise the knights were teasing him, so he paused and chuckled and didn't seem to be angered by their jests. Instead, he turned to her with a slight smile, waving to her as she moved down the stairs to Firefoot. "Good morn," he chirped.

"Morning all," she called, and smiled as they greeted her in return. Now, they were not polite or professional - it was as though she was the servant again, the one who was odd and outspoken and one of the boys, not a delicate queen. It made her smile brighter, her movements more eager and less tiresome. Merlynn mounted her steed and caressed her flank. "You too, Firefoot." Gwen strapped her sword to the saddle as well as the satchel, then touched her knee gently.

"Be safe," she whispered. "And keep my husband safe."

She smiled at Gwen and squeezed her hand. "Always, Gwen."

In the early evening, as the sun began to drift down into the mountains, she took note of the games the knights played with the young Mordred. Games, ones that one as perceptive as she noticed that they were just teasing, but to someone like Mordred, who was so fit to please them and join in amongst their fun, thought nothing of it. They made him do tricks in his saddle, but one in particular had been lasting for two hours. Mordred was to sit on the saddle, facing backwards toward the rest of the knights with his hands resting on the front of it. He looked confused, but nonetheless did what was instructed of him.

"Uh, Mordred," she asked, brow furrowing slightly, "what on earth are you doing?"

"Melding the saddle, Em - my lady," he replied.

"As in the ancient tradition... of melding," Gwaine added. The rest of the knights snickered, but they were looking at her, asking her to play along with their eyes. Melding? There was no such thing.

"Ah, yes. Melding. Goes back years - all the finest of knights have to do it on their first patrol," she called back, though there was a playfulness in her voice that she couldn't simply get rid of. "I trust your breeches are inside out, Mordred?"

"Uh, my lady?"

**[][][][][][]**

They were going to find him soon enough, it was inevitable. Percival was one of the finest trackers in the whole kingdom; he didn't require the magic like she did to find whoever he had to. He used the earth, the trees, any remnants of their person that they left behind in a fit of panic. A small bit of Osgar's clothing had been found, and she knew they were closer. Mordred kept close, whether to protect her or to keep himself safe, she wasn't sure, but she glanced at him with a smile and dismounted Firefoot.

"He's getting careless," Percival told her.

"Emrys," Mordred whispered, nudging her shoulder. He pointed at a spot far into the distance, where a black shadow disappeared into the deep green brush of the trees. It was him, at last.

Merlynn motioned to the knights silently and took off with Mordred and Lancelot at her heels, while the others separated in small pairs. She could feel his magic; weak, flickering like a broken flame in a dying candle. He wasn't dying, but he was a lesser magic, not like Mordred, or Morgana, or even herself. They chased at him, despite not knowing where exactly he was, or where he was going to end up. They went twisting through trees and down broken paths and eventually Merlynn made them pause in a long stretch of grass and twigs - no word, no nothing, it was so silent she could hear a faint ringing in her ears. But then, the twigs were cracking behind them on stumbling feet and she turned to face the sorcerer that had killed Sir Ranolf. He looked to be a simple man, with thin black robes and a tuft of hair the colour of hay, but he was strong enough to find them so that meant there was a danger present.

This was no chance meeting, she knew. They had meant to find him, to go to him.

"My name is Osgar," he gasped out, his hand pressed at his side, mouth twisting in pain.

"Yes, I know," she replied. Merlynn was concerned for him; he was quite obviously hurt, though he was fine when she first saw him. One of the knights must have given him a quick blow; she hoped they were only injured, and not killed. He fell to his knees, and she grasped his shoulder, clenching tight enough to warn him. "I'm -"

"Queen Merlynn? Yes. Where's the king?"

She paused. "He was otherwise indisposed - why?"

"I am sent from the sacred Disir to pass judgement on Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King," he told her, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips. They were stained with his blood. "It is my duty to pass their judgement onto him, my lady. My sacred duty."

"Oh?" The Disir was a name she did not know very well; it was faint, a memory from reading her books, but she did not study it. "He is not here. Will you pass this judgement to me, and I to him?"

"It is my duty. How am I to trust a queen to deliver this to her king?" he was panting now, gritting his teeth. Osgar would die soon.

Merlynn moved closer to him and crouched; she heard the swords of her comrades lift to poise at his head, a simple warning. Her eyes flashed, bright gold against clear blue, and he gaped at her, jaw slack and wide. "You have my word as _Emrys_," she swore to him. The title spoke like a thousand echoes from her lips - the name was true power, and it had the desired effect on the lesser sorcerer. He looked at her with a respect that wasn't there before, if not pity.

Osgar reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a large coin, then put it in her hand. "Give him this. When it touches his hand, it will be done."

"What is it?" she asked, rubbing her thumb over it, feeling the runes beneath her flesh. It was no ordinary coin; thick and more gold than bronze but priceless, no doubt, as it was a runemark sent directly from the people called 'The Disir'. She had to ask Gaius about them.

"Both judgement and fate," he coughed, clumsily wiping away the blood on his chin. "Tell him that he has waged war against the Old Religion. Tell him that now, the ancient gods answer him. The Disir have spoken. The circle of fate begins to close. For even as Camelot flowers, the seeds of her destruction are being sown."

"Morgana," she whispered.

"But, tell him that it is not too late," he added. "Not too late to find the true path. Tell him to redeem himself - this is his final chance."

And then, he died, fingers dropping from her hand. Another kin was gone, yet again. Merlynn couldn't save him; his mission possibly came with the death. If the Disir were able to have contact with the ancient gods, then his fate would have been sown already. He was meant to die there, among the wet grass and the cool chill of the morning air. Mordred came forward and put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder briefly; both mourned the loss of one of their own, but no tears were shed.

"Come, we will return to the others," she declared and turned away from Osgar. 'We will bury him later, Mordred,' she added to only him.

When they returned to their camp that Percival and Leon had set up once their patrol had been cleared, she was greeted with the usual hugs and check-overs. Once she was ultimately deemed 'healthy', they barrelled questions, asking where the dreaded Osgar was. And she answered, "He died," but that was all she said about it. Merlynn ate quickly and without tasting it - Percival was the one who cooked it, after all - then she stood, tugged Mordred on the shoulder, and left the camp with a quick excuse.

It wasn't right to leave a sorcerer's body exposed. It just wouldn't do. Sorcerers were forbidden to have marked graves, to be buried in the heart of their magic, but she would not have it. No, this Osgar was a man loyal to his magic, and she would give him the proper burial that he deserved. Mordred helped her lift the body and carry him into a deeper part of the wood, where the trees melted into the sky, and there was more dirt than grass. They used magic to remove the dirt, enough to fit his body inside, and then covered it right up. Then she went off to collect rocks, while he was on look-out.

"What would the king say?" he asked, once the rocks piled high on top of Osgar's grave.

"He was one of us," she said, her fingers touching the coin in her pocket.

"Sorcerers aren't permitted marked graves," he reminded her, though his smile was wry and his voice dismal.

It was true. As they were persecuted, they were considered beasts - non-humans who terrorised and spread evil and disease. So, in death, they were kept as monsters and animals. Merlynn took his hand. "It won't always be like this, though. One day we will live in freedom again."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course I do," she grinned.

"Until then, we will go unmarked - in death as in life," as he said it, her smile dropped and she, too, was sad again.

That evening they sat in a circle around the fire, as they would not be able to return to Camelot until the next day. It was merry and joyous, except for Merlynn. But how could she join in on the festivities of 'their latest kill' when that kill was her kin; yes, she never knew the man, but it was the same. He was a creature of magic, a practiser in the arts, as was she. And so, her mourning was true and real and she was beginning to get rather annoyed at the mention of Osgar's plight. Mordred seemed to notice her disposition, for whenever he was spoken about, he would pause and look at her, as if she was going to punish him if he ever played along with them.

Merlynn checked over Gwaine's wound which, in itself, was superficial. Just a bump on his crown and a small scrape at the back of his neck where his chain mail could not reach. "You'll be fine," she assured him. "The swelling should go down by morning."

He squeezed her hand with a chuckle, "Let's hope so."

She stood and returned to her post closer to the fire, where her chilled bones could be warmed. Merlynn was cold, but the others seemed to be fine - perhaps it was her emotions, the stress of it all, cooling her insides. She didn't know, but she sighed as the heat washed over her, close enough to burn.

"How is he?" asked Percival.

"I've applied poultices. He - and Elyan - are going to make a full recovery."

"You're a skilled physician, Em - Merlynn." Mordred had to keep correcting himself, especially around the knights who, save from Lancelot, had no idea who she truly was. She was sure Gwaine had an inkling perhaps, since he was ever perceptive, but he hadn't given her any signs of knowing as of yet.

She snorted a little. "I just watched Gaius, that's all," she said, but a warm heat flushed her cheeks from the compliment.

"She also makes a very fine breakfast, as you'll see," Leon teased, grinning at her.

"Better than Percival's slop of a stew," Gwaine piped up.

"Shut up!"

Merlynn just wanted to return to Camelot. She was tired, and sore, and she had many things to do. Gaius had to be told about the runemark coin, and about the Disir (which she still had to research, herself) and she had to speak to Arthur. She had given Osgar her word, after all, to give him the coin. And, while the coin made her spine tingle, her head ache, she didn't want the Disir to flame an even worse judgement down upon them because of her misguidance. But now, she was in the forest, among her friends, and she would have rather been in the Veil.

"To the young Mordred - and his successful mission," Leon raised his goblet, as did the rest of the men, and they cheered together and drank.

Mordred was blushing, picking at a tear in his trousers at the knee. "It was nothing."

"It was timely and vigilant," he added.

"Congratulations," Merlynn's voice was dull and void of any pleasant emotion, and now the knights saw her. They were friends - the closest, many said - and to see her so downtrodden and empty, it must have been a change from who she was before. Which was, in itself, odd, because that year of them being 'The Knights of the Round Table' she had been possibly even worse, darker and angrier. Perhaps she was worse now, she was just strong enough to hide it.

Percival went to her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Come, Merlynn, we've triumphed," he squeezed her tight, pressing his mouth to her hair and temple.

"Osgar could've easily killed me," she mumbled.

"But he didn't."

Oh, he thought she was scared. "But he was a sorcerer, it was well within his power," she turned bitter, spitting the words out as if it were poison.

"He was deranged, obviously," Gwaine groaned out. "He was babbling nonsense when we saw him."

"All he wanted to do was give me this coin. Why?" she asked, but she knew the answer. Merlynn wanted to have them feel something for the man; pity, remorse, sympathy - something.

"I don't know, Merlynn," Percival replied, exasperated. "All I know is this man - sorcerer - almost killed two of our men, and managed to kill another. He was dangerous, and now he's gone."

She didn't sleep that night.

**[][][][][][]**

Camelot was bright and tall in the horizon, its white stone walls strong and proud. It showed an image so picturesque and appealing, so unlike what her life was truly like within those walls - it was danger, itself. Merlynn did not smile once; not when she awoke, nor when they ate or chatted or laughed, or even when they returned home to Arthur. He was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, waiting restlessly, pacing and such as though she had gone off to face a fierce beast rather than a simple sorcerer. Arthur smiled when he saw her, took her by the hips and settled her down into his arms, peppering kisses about her skin.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I was gone a _day_," she replied, barely twitching.

He frowned at her. Arthur, while he rarely knew what was truly going on around him, he could tell she wasn't herself. He touched her all over as though he was trying to find some major injury or ailment to her body. When he found none, he frowned deeper, kissing her again. "Come. You must be tired," he was trying to make sense of her.

Merlynn was led to their bedchamber, where she was placed on the bed. He tried to push her down, to make her go to sleep, but she refused, pushed and pushed until she finally released a frustrated cry. "No! You - you need to look at this," she tore the runemark from her pocket and placed it in his open palm, pressing it deep into his flesh.

"Wha -"

"It is both judgement and fate," she recited. "He - he said that you have waged war against the people of the Old Religion, that now the ancient gods are answering." Arthur was staring at her like she was an old drunkard in the tavern, spitting nonsensical wisdom from her cracked lips. "The Disir have spoken. B - but it's not too late! You can redeem yourself. It's not _too late_, Arthur."

He cupped her head, pulling her forehead to his, and said, "What are you talking about?" The runemark never left his fingers.

"I'm sorry, but I had to. I gave him my word - my word as Emrys, Arthur. The Disir, from what he said, are not to be reckoned with and I was scared! Scared for you, and for me, and for Camelot," she was almost sobbing, trembling against his warm touch.

"Who?"

"Osgar," she muttered.

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat and pulled away, frustration etched in his golden face. "He has tricked you, turned you insane." He touched the skin of her forehead, now pallid and damp. "Something must be wrong with you - you haven't smiled in three days, Merlynn, not really. Are you ill?"

"No. Not at all. There just hasn't been much to smile about."

He sighed then kissed her again forcibly, as if he was trying to push his happiness through their mouths, clenching his fingers on the bone of her jaw, pressing until she could hardly breathe. She cupped his neck, pulling him closer and attempted to get rid of her own plight. Arthur could always make her smile, make her laugh and be happy and be who she was - she felt the spark, then, in their joining, a small burst of something that she always felt and she relaxed a little in his grip, swiping her tongue against his mouth. He moaned happily and lowered her, pressing up on her spine with his now free hand, forcing her to arch into him.

"There we go," he breathed as he pulled away from her.

"What?"

"A little bit of the old you, right there."

Merlynn rolled her eyes and sat up, legs dangling either side of him. "Come with me to see Gaius," she ordered.

"Why?" he asked, furrowing his brow. Arthur was trying to seduce her now, pressing his mouth and tongue to her neck and her collarbone, fingers gripping at her outer thigh. But it was wrong, it was all wrong. Yes, the pleasure was there, seeking and aching for release in the indent of her thighs but she was still in the wake of panic. Merlynn still had to figure out what was going on with the Disir and the runemark coin that seemed so impossibly dangerous for something so simple.

"To see about the runemark coin," she explained.

"Ugh, it's a trinket - nothing more." He dangled the coin between them, then dropped it in her lap. "We'll get the jeweller to mount it if you'd like?"

"No," she said firmly. "We have to go to Gaius. These Disir people don't seem like the kind to simply ignore."

"Fine."

Gaius was less than pleased to see the object in her hands, but took it while fixing his spectacles and peering closely. Now that she saw it - truly saw it - she noticed the runes and she was sure she had seen them before. If she were not mistaken, they were written in places in the Druid cave she had once gone to many times, inscribed on the walls. But she didn't know what they meant. Gaius was beginning to figure it out, she could tell, by the widen of his eyes and his lose jaw slackening as he read through his books and touched the runemark. His fingers, old from time and dry from potion-making, brushed over the runes thrice before finally, he stopped and set it down on the table. He was done with it.

"This mark once aroused fear," was the first thing he said, mouth twitching into a frown. "Great fear. It was given to those found wanting by the court of the Disir."

Merlynn had taken her place in her old chair, curled up in the soft padding as though she had never left. "Osgar told me about them, but not much - who are they?"

"Well, they are the highest court of the Old Religion. Three women were chosen at birth to be trained as seers and soothsayers. Their only task was to interpret the word of the Triple Goddess. When they sat in judgement, their word was final," he told them. A loud tapping was emitting from the table where Gaius' fingers were trembling, bumping against the rotting wood of his desk; a sharp look in his eye, like a startled cat, came over him and he was straight, stiff and tense and she was worried.

"Gaius -"

"No, this is nonsense - irrelevant," Arthur barked, sniffing. "I don't see how what bearing it has on me or Camelot!"

"Sire," Gaius uttered, and he leaned forward, his hands once more capturing the runemark, "the Disir saw fit to give you this. This is the judgement of the gods against you."

He paused, then. He stared at Gaius, then at her, and back again; again and again as if he was trying to make sense of the seriousness of it all, the fear in Gaius' eyes and the concern in hers. Battles with the Old Religion never ended well, especially with her involved - magic battling magic, it was never a positive thing. If she were to go against those who were inextricably linked to the Triple Goddess (or if Arthur did), then they would surely be accounted for their own disaster.

One should never go against the ancient rulers.

"This... is nonsense, surely?"

"No," she replied, when he finally looked at her once more.

"The Old Religion held that the runemark not only contained a man's guilt but the path that the gods had chosen for him. That is why it is both a judgement and fate."

Arthur grit his teeth and stood straighter, taller. "I make my own path," he said with a hint of defiance.

"Do you? It is said that only the gods can alter a man's fate..." Gaius paused, and a hint of a smile quirked at his lips though it lacked any sort of humour. "And even then, only when he repents and appeases them."

"You don't believe any of this," he sputtered. He glanced at Merlynn again, eyes pleading with her to agree with him, call it nonsense or something. All she did was twitch her nose and look down at her hands. "Gaius?" he whirled around to face the physician.

Gaius was silent. He refused to look away from the king, even when the runemark clattered from his fingers and hit the table with a loud clang. "I'm an old man, sire," he said finally. After another moment, he added, his voice hardened and almost mad, "Old enough to be wary of dismissing other people's beliefs."

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur didn't dine with her in the evening. He paced and muddled as she ate her fill with bread, chicken and fruits, watching him from the corner of her eye. Merlynn hadn't eaten much over the past week, too buried in her own thoughts to have the proper nutrition. But now, it seemed, amongst the madness of the Disir, she felt hunger and she sated it with little guilt.

"Have I not made Camelot a fairer and more just kingdom?" he ranted at her, fingers dragging through mussed, golden hair.

"Yes, you have," she replied lightly and sipped at her wine.

"Have I not rid it of the cruelties and injustices of the past?"

Merlynn paused. Yes, the kingdom was a much lighter and less fearsome place to travel, but there were still dark spots. It was a tumbling wave on the bottom of a cliff in a storm, inevitably going to crash and destroy anything that came into its path. They were going to be consumed by those spots soon, if they didn't work quickly. Magic was still outlawed, and those who had magic were still being prosecuted and ostracised from the rest of society. "You have."

"I... am not my father," he spat out, daring her to say otherwise. Arthur never wanted to be his father, avoided it like it was the plague; but, perhaps, it was a subconscious trait. She was sure he wasn't aware of it - he would never truly become his father, not completely, but there were moments, decisions, where perhaps his father was influencing him. He still couldn't free magic from the danger of a death sentence, after all.

"You're not," she assured him.

Arthur slumped in the chair beside her and caved in on himself. He was a small boy again, vulnerable and alone, with wide glossy eyes and trembling fingers. "Then why do they judge me so?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She took one of his shaking hands and placed it in her lap, her long fingers tracing patterns that became runes she could not name. Protection, possibly, because that was all she ever wanted to do - keep him safe, keep him loved and alive for as long as she could. It was her duty as his protector, and his wife. "Perhaps... perhaps they feel that you are worthy to be judged."

"How?"

"Well, judgement... it's wasted on a man who won't listen," she replied, not fully understanding the words herself.

"I should take them seriously, then?"

Merlynn smiled and turned his head to face her, thumb wiping across his cheek. "You know what I'm like when it comes to these things. Of course I think you should - but I think you already have. These people, they're not like the Druids. They have far more power than anyone else, because they have direct link with the gods, or so its said." He didn't say anything after that, other than let his head fall back onto the chair and rub at his jaw. She kissed his cheek and stood. "I'm going to see if Kilgharrah can tell me anything, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, dull and empty.

She left him with a heavy heart and an ache in her chest, but at least he knew now. Knew not to brush off matters involving magic, particularly if she was terrified about it - Morgana's evil power was one thing, but she was known, sometimes predictable, and Arthur had met her before. But the Disir were much different from Morgana. She could guess that Morgana had never even gained council with them, but she was a follower of the Old Religion, and never went against the idea of a free magical society.

As she went to the forest and into the clearing where she met the dragon most times, she could barely feel that relief of being reunited with him. Instead, she was more exhausted than she was before. Her feet were molasses, dragging against the fallen leaves and stones that graced the dirt pathway and her vision hazy. It was as though she had been drugged. She was walking toward the foreboding, heading straight into the answers she didn't want; she needed them, yes, in order to save Arthur and make sure that the gods didn't curse their path, but the weight of knowing was pain enough. To know that Morgana's chance of defeating them was growing greater, especially with the ancient gods of Old Religion on her side. That there was a small chance that Mordred was going to kill Arthur anyway, even though she was changing him, turning him into that hopeful, eager young boy he perhaps once was. That Arthur could die before she could stop it.

It was crowding in on her all at once and she couldn't stop it and she was going to explode -

"O drakon! E male so ftengometta tesd' hup' anankes!" Merlynn roared out to the heavens, her despair turning the words cracked and broken.

Kilgharrah flew down to her with minutes to spare. She told him everything, everything she could - the meeting with Osgar, the runemark, all the way to her journey to the clearing. And as she spoke, he listened, those molten eyes zeroed directly onto her. When she finished, he was silent, almost too silent. Merlynn wanted to scream at him, demand he tell her all that he knew in return for her suffering. But instead, he said, "You were right to summon me, Merlynn. The Disir are the mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess. It is she who has decreed Arthur's fate."

"Yes, I know," she huffed in frustration. "What is it to be?"

"The runemark depicts Arthur's death."

Merlynn should have known it to be already, but even so it brought a cool chill over her, tingling up her spine and stopping her heart. She was frozen there, lost in the blackness behind her closed eyes; there, she was lost in the shadows and where the worst of her nightmares hid. Arthur's death. The one thing she was meant to prevent - the Once and Future King, now king. The most loyal king to ever be. His death was brought up around her far more than she would ever like as though there was no way to stop it. As though (she feared thinking of it) it was surely going to happen. A fixed point.

"Oh," she uttered, and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "Wuh - when will this happen?"

"The future is never clear, Merlynn," he told her, as he had many times before. "You should know that by now. There are many paths - not all lead to Camelot's ruin."

"Do they lead to Mordred?" she asked. If a path lead to Mordred, that didn't mean it would end negatively, would it? Not all paths were paved with blood and betrayal.

"The Druid boy? His fate and Arthur's are bound together like ivy round a tree."

"I used to fear he was dangerous, but not now. He's helping me, Kilgharrah. Surely he can't be now?"

Kilgharrah huffed out a breath. "There is good cause to doubt him," he mused. "Merlynn, your ability to see the good in others may be the path to your destruction. You failed to kill the Druid boy once before - you must not fail again. He may be your kin, but you are both very different - he will turn to dark, while you walk to the light. There is no other way."

And he was gone, again.

Arthur wasn't sleeping that evening, that much was for certain. They got into their bed and he wrapped himself around her, but he never went to sleep. Neither did she. He was sighing against her hair, grip changing every few minutes. He was uncomfortable and restless, which was making her the same in return. But finally, once his shuffling stopped, she finally got to sleep. Until he was moving again and his warmth was gone from her back. She didn't open her eyes, but she could hear him, moving about around the room and stuffing things into a bag - maybe, two.

"Swords - need two, uh, clothes... what does she even wear?" he was babbling, much louder than respectable since he thought she was asleep. "We're going to need blankets. No, she's asleep. Now, food - yes, I'll have to go and fetch Gwen so she can get it -"

"You'll not be doing that," she groaned out, but didn't move. Her eyes snapped open, and she realised with annoyance that it was barely even dawn. It was still dark.

"Oh, you're awake. Good." Arthur tore the top blanket from her body (his favourite travel blanket) and began to roll it, before attaching it to his bag. "We're going to see the Disir - wherever they are."

"How are we going to find them?"

"Gaius, of course," he drawled.

"Arthur -"

"You told me to take it seriously, and so I am," he retorted. "Get up. We have to get going. I don't know what you wear, or if you're concerned about matching cloth - I know Mo - Morgana was, so I'll leave that to you." Arthur was almost manic in his movements, unable to truly stand still or keep his movements halted. His terror must have manifested, she thought, into something else. A man who was faced with his own death turns into a shadow of themselves until they are nothing at all.

Merlynn dressed in her travelling wear and braided her hair back as best she could, even when her arms began to ache from the position of her hands. Arthur almost shoved her sword into her hands, to which she rolled her eyes and strapped together her belt so she could attach it. He was certainly in a hurry. "Arthur -"

"We'll leave within the hour," was all he said, before he took her by the wrist. They went to Gaius' chamber, where he began to bang and bash on the door. Merlynn flicked the door open with her magic to speed things up, because she was beginning to grow tired of his too-eager behaviour. As they stormed inside, she saw Gaius only just sitting up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes and sliding on his spectacles.

"Sire?"

"How do we find the Disir?"

"Sire -"

"No, Gaius. You're the only one who can help m - us," he replied, finally releasing her.

"I don't think it is wise..." he suggested with a grimace.

Arthur went to him and took his shoulder. "Do I look like a man to trifle with?" there was an undertone of a threat that was not mistaken by Merlynn, who had to fight back another roll of her eyes.

"It is said," began Gaius, "that the Disir divines use an ancient pool. In turn, the pool is fed by the sacred spring at Caerlanrigh. The source of the spring is a grove of yew trees in the White Mountains. The Grove of Brineved." He spoke to Merlynn directly, then, "Be careful, Merlynn. I'm not sure what you'll encounter, but the Old Ways are at their strongest." Arthur was looking at them, but said nothing; she guessed he didn't understand what they were really saying.

"I know, Gaius. Thank you," she said, kissing him on his old cheek.

Arthur went off to collect the knights, while she readied the horses for their long travel to the White Mountains. She was stepping into a realm of magic she had never experienced before - the Isle was the heart of the Old Religion, but the Caerlanrigh was the soul of the Disir, where the Triple Goddess' judgements were passed. Merlynn was worried they would reveal who she was to the other knights without even realising, or do it on purpose as punishment. If they did, she would surely be facing some trouble - especially with Gwaine who, no doubt, would feel betrayed by her secrets the most out of all of them.

Merlynn busied her thoughts with the horses, helping the stablehand, Tyr, who was robust and kind hearted, and blushed whenever she paid him favour. "My lady, no! I - I can do it," he insisted, and tried to take the saddle from her hands. "A queen shouldn't."

"Why?" she laughed. "It's not proper?"

"Yes, my lady," he nodded, another flush reddening his cheeks.

"I'm going to do it anyway." Merlynn hefted the saddle up onto Gwaine's horse, which she only knew because of the long twists of her mane. A few horses were already saddled (including Firefoot and Lamri, thankfully) and Tyr was preparing the rest as quickly as he could - being the only stablehand. The horses Tyr tended to were those reserved to the knights, Arthur and herself; he was the most trusted to tend to them, and so he looked over the royal stable on his own.

Once the horses were prepared, she beckoned sentry to lead the horses out in waiting for the knights while she mounted Firefoot and walked her out of the stables. The knights were tired, but their chain mail was impeccable - training certainly didn't begin in battle, it was in speed and being able to be ready in minutes. She smiled at them sleepily, as did they in return, and positioned herself at the head of the group. Arthur joined them soon, Excalibur held in his hand by the sheath; he strapped it to his saddle and mounted Lamri with ease, before turning to the men.

"I -"

"My lord, you are going to the Black Mountain?" Mordred shouted as he raced down the stairs, clumsily trying to clip his cape to his shoulders.

"I am."

"Then I humbly petition to go with you," he declared defiantly. You failed to kill the Druid boy. You must not do so again. Merlynn couldn't look at him - she refused to. He was going to figure it out if she did; she could feel the tears swell, her bottom lip tremble. Lancelot could see her face though, and he reached over and took her hand wordlessly, never asking why she was so upset. She smiled wetly at him in thanks, and squeezed his fingers.

"It is not for novices, Mordred," Arthur sighed.

"Did I not serve you well?"

"You did."

"Then I will do again."

"It is no mere sorcerer this time, Mordred," he warned. "Our mission is dangerous - in ways we cannot perhaps imagine."

Mordred's voice came to her. 'Please, Emrys. Let me help you.' But she didn't reply. "Then you will need good men by your side," Mordred pointed out with determination. If he was miffed that she ignored him, he kept it hidden. "Let me serve, let me do my duty."

Merlynn had a strong desire to slap Arthur round the head for surrendering. He let Mordred come, gave her the opportunity to fulfil her - Kilgharrah's - 'duty'. But, she didn't know if whether, when the time came, she would be able to kill the boy. When he was saddled on his horse, he smiled at her, pride and excitement gleaming in his blue eyes, and all she did was turn away and ride off.

She didn't want to look at him ever again.

* * *

**So. Emotional. Dark. I don't know, what did you think? **

**Subtle Resplendency: **I'm sorry TGE is so long, omfg. Actually, there's not much of an age difference - maybe about 4 or 5 years. I made her sixteen, when we first meet her in Camelot but yeah, it's kind of odd I guess haha. And in my defence, he's... not really in love with her anymore, I don't even know! I'm not going to give him any defining love interests soon, though, so... I guess he'll just be a linger-er.

**Ryn of Magic: **Thank you! I'm wondering how it will pan out myself uwu

**Reviewer: **I don't know if I'm going to do that - it was a thought - but that would be a load of work and I don't know if I have the time to do that, haha~ :/

**ShadowsMelodie: **thanks bby uwu ahhh so many Mordred feels askfjkbhn and this episodes going to be Mordred/Merlynn central, really.

**Merthur: **Writer's block. So much writer's block.

**ArmyWife22079: **She's not really old enough to be his mother, though? Like I said above, there's only really a 4-5 age difference~ (She's like 23-24, now).

**Corey Youngblood: **Well, I'm guessing Mithian isn't trained in magic like Morgana or Merlin, so she wouldn't know anything about runes or magic symbols - she's a regular mortal, after all. It was all she could do to tell Merlin and still try to remain inconspicuous at the very same time.

**Sam: **Since I never really know what I'm doing with a chapter until the end, one can only wait. I'm no good with decisions, either, so if I say yes now - I'll probably give up, and never do it ever and then just let the idea fade away with self-doubt and writer's block. So here's to hoping, eh? (also thank you xx)

**Dhragonis-Slytherin: **ahwskfjdfkh thank you so much! I'm really glad you're enjoying all of this and everything and that you don't hate it and gaaahh. I've been saying "and" a lot lately - oops. Also yeah, she hasn't gotten back to me when I asked her to delete what she had stolen, and I've checked her story and it seems she's been just simply ignoring me. I've reported her, and all I can do is wait I guess? Thank you, though (again), for your support! x

**So, please tell me how you liked it - it sounds a little different than what I'm used to, since I've written it using a different style, but I hope you enjoyed it? Review, and I'll try to get the next chapter up by next week. **

**Love you all, **

**Khaleesi~**


	9. The Disir: Arthur's Choice

**Next chapter. On time, this time. See? I can do it~ This chapter was certainly interesting. And really difficult - so bare with me on the dialogue, because the Disir are a frustrating trio to write. However, I do... kind of like where I've gone with this. To be fair, though, near the end I was reading a Cato/OC (The Hunger Games) fic called Lady of the Lake which is very romance based so I may have been in a mushy mood or whatever. **

**Sigh. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter though - and please don't forget to review! **

* * *

**CHAPTER 9 - THE DISIR.**

_"and there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears  
and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears  
get over your hill and see what you find there  
with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair."_

_-_ 'After the Storm' by Mumford & Sons.

* * *

Caerlanrigh was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. Magic was, as Gaius had said, at its strongest in the forest and there in Caerlanrigh. Merlynn was unsure if the others could see it, or if they could even feel the change in the atmosphere. But she could. The world was brighter, each tree and plant became a living creature, breathing and thriving; the birds chirped more clearly, the small creatures they passed seemed to be more alive. Her vision became the best it had ever been. Merlynn was Emrys here. Arthur noticed a change but rather, in her as they dismounted and took to searching on foot for the

"Merlynn?" he touched her cheek, forcing her eyes to meet his. His touch accelerated, his breath an echo. It was all so different than when she was at the Isle; there, it was the heart of magic, yes, but in Caerlanrigh it was different. The forest was where true magic was born, so everything was stronger, more powerful; she was becoming more powerful.

"Yes."

"You okay?"

"Of course," she replied, smiling to reassure him.

Merlynn felt his hands brush over her sides and take hold of her, possessive - but to whom? He was trying to assert his protective nature to something, but there was no one else around other than the knights, and Mordred. If there was, she would know. A deer bleated in the distance, crying out to some unseen creature before she heard it leap away to another spot. No danger was present, none physical. But magic was dangerous, she knew. It was beautiful and wondrous and special, but it was dangerous and hidden and mysterious even to those who practised it. A darkness curled on the edges of their path like roots of a tree, rotting and twisting. That was what Arthur was protecting her from, she began to realise: he could feel it and even though he wasn't sure what it was, he was trying to save her from it anyway.

They neared the Grove of Brineved within a half-hour. Something else shifted. Magic was present again, but now it seemed to hum beneath every surface, under each step she made. It formed the path to the mouth of the cave where the Disir were and she was suddenly gripped with the urge to turn and run, her legs moving too slow for the rest of her body. She could barely feel herself - her fingers, arms and legs and head so foreign as she neared the cave - so she had to pause, collect herself again, piecing herself together with a detachment she was not familiar with, and keep on moving. Mordred's magic was a distance from her, pressing at her own but unable to penetrate and connect again. He was trying to talk to her, she could hear his voice, muffled and distant as though she was plunged beneath water.

She was one with the magic that was born to this place now.

There were runes and relics made from sticks hanging from the trees, and she brushed them from her way with respectful gentleness. The knights on the other hand, Arthur included, knocked them over, crushed them beneath their dirty feet. It was like they were in the Druid shrine again, amongst the hanging runes and the dirty cloth that hung from rotting branches and lines of string. They had treated it like it was a joke - the Old Religion, to them, was petty and ridiculous and they should have known better. A flare of white-hot anger boiled inside of her as Elyan snapped a relic from the low hanging branch and crushed it viciously, as though he was a boy tearing a doll from a little girl's hands; a game. She wished she could strike him for it.

"Stay close," Arthur ordered, hand pressing at her midsection to keep her behind him. "You know your positions."

His hand returned to the hilt of Excalibur and it was a terribly bad idea. "_Arthur_," she uttered, grasping at his chain mail.

"What is it?" he turned, the blues of his eyes flickering with irritation.

"This place is sacred," she reminded him, hissing the word out.

He almost seemed to scoff. "This place is a cave, Merlynn," as though it was a simple thing of no importance.

"Oh," her mouth twitched bitterly, "it's so much more than that and you will never understand. You can't go armed into a sacred place, Arthur! It's one of the worst crimes one could ever commit." She said this in a low voice, so the others wouldn't hear them.

"You want us to go into this cave unarmed?" he glanced down, and took note that her sword was not on her belt. It was on Firefoot's saddle, where it would stay until they left the sacred space; even then, she did not dare to bare arms to a place so sanctified. "This is, perhaps, one of the most ridiculous things you have ever said. By far."

Arthur then turned and went into the cave. The others pushed past her, following after their king - except Mordred. Who, with a small guilty smile, motioned for her to walk into the cave alongside him. And so, she went in, watching as the knights pushed and tore at the runes that lined the entrance of the cave with such disgrace that even she was bristling at the edges of her very being. Merlynn wondered if Mordred felt the same. 'I do,' he said, and she felt the warmth of his hand guide her over a snapped rune so she didn't step on it.

The buzzing she felt became more intense. 'The Old ways are at their strongest.' It was true; she could feel it, so different yet so very much the same as when she was faced with the Isle of the Blessed and the Veil. A magic so exposed and raw that it consumed her very being and stuck to her like tar, stinging into her flesh. But here, in Caerlanrigh, it was a different kind of consuming. One that dulled her senses and heightened them at the same time, strong and fierce and warm, like a cloak bathed in fire wrapped around her body.

In the deepest part of the cave stood the Disir. They faced them, as if they were expecting their arrival - since they were soothsayers, she didn't doubt it. Three, in resemblance of the Triple Goddess; the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone. Their heavy hooded robes were of the deepest black, reminding her of ink; their faces were hidden by the shadows cast from their hoods, and it made her think of the Veil. That darkness that was created by more darkness, hidden and faceless, nameless. The Disir had names, she knew, but she doubted she would ever get the chance to know them. Each held a staff in their hand, each one the same; there was no change, no way to distinguish which was which.

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. I come to know the meaning of this," Arthur declared, holding up the runemark. He flipped "The Grove of Brineved is in the kingdom of Camelot, subject to its laws, its decrees. Every man, however humble, however noble, has the right to be judged only by his peers. Yet you judge me in my absence. Explain yourselves." She held back a scoff of disbelief; he was a lesser to them, king or no. They were in direct link with the Triple Goddess - to them, he was just another mortal to be judged.

"We do not judge," the one in the middle said, who she named the Mother.

"We do not condemn," added the one on the right; Crone.

"We are but the internuncio of the one who presides over all," the left Disir finished. She was the youngest, and so she was called Maiden.

Merlynn guessed them by their voices. There was little else to name them by, as they gave no name, nothing to distinguish them; so she labelled them by the Goddess. Their was something ancient yet ageless about them, by the way they stood like statues, with straight shoulders and tight mouths. It was all she could see of them; even their eyes were hidden by the shadows of their hoods.

"Who sees all."

"Who knows all."

"The Triple Goddess," they said together in perfect unison. She wondered how they did it.

"And you," the Mother spat, "Arthur Pendragon, have angered her."

Arthur gaped at them, and she wanted to reach out to him, touch his back or his shoulder, if only to give him support. "How so? Have I not been an honourable king? Have I not made Camelot a fair and just kingdom?" he had asked her the very same questions the night before, but now he was demanding answers.

"So much is true."

"But you have denied the Old Religion."

"Dismissed its faith."

"Persecuted its followers."

"Even unto slaughter."

Their way of talking was dizzying and hard to keep up with, but she took note of the higher authority the Mother had. She stood ahead of the others, and her staff was longer, curved and the stone at the end was much larger than the rest. Merlynn wasn't sure why, but she was in no place to question it.

"I fight against sorcery and superstition, that's all," Arthur argued.

The Crone's voice turned hard as iron. "Embrace the ways of the Old Religion, Arthur. Or risk the ire of the Goddess." It was a pure warning, but there was a pleading behind it. 'This is his final chance,' Osgar had told her, to redeem himself. It seemed his ignorance of magic was catching up with him in the worst possible way and it truly was his last chance, perhaps, to cleanse Camelot of the wrongdoings left like battle scars from his father.

"The destruction of everything you most value," the Maiden added, and she felt eyes on her, burning through her flesh like brimstone.

"The end of your reign." It was mostly the Crone and the Maiden who were talking. The Mother was keeping silent, watching and waiting for her moment to speak again.

"The fall of Camelot itself."

Arthur hissed like a snake, his fists shaking either side of him, and he shouted, "I refuse to be judged by those who do not know me."

"You are known, Arthur," the Crone told him. "You have _always_ been known."

"And now you come here, to the most sacred of the sacred, to the very heart of the Old Religion, with weapons drawn," the Mother finally said, and her voice was shaking. Merlynn saw Arthur glance at her once, and she wanted to say that she had told him, tried to get him to see the error of what he had done but, of course, he didn't listen. But no, she was silent.

The Maiden added, "Trampling hallowed relics."

"Treating our sacred space like you do your kingdom - with arrogance," the Crone hissed.

"With conceit."

"With insolence."

Gwaine, it seemed, had had enough of their talk, and he stepped forward, drawing his sword. He once told her its name, speaking of it with pride - he called it 'Glorious'. "Enough!" he roared. "You speak of the king!" The Mother inclined her head and the knight was sent soaring back, crashing into stone and slamming his head against it.

Then everything turned to madness. All the knights bared their weapons as Arthur shouted, "On me!" but she doubted they could ever win against the Disir in the heart of their power. The Maiden's staff morphed until the edge was sharp and tipped with a dripping substance, and she threw it with ferocious precision at Arthur. Before she could use her magic to turn it away, Mordred was leaping in Arthur's way and the staff pierced through his chest. A wave of panic stung at her. Mordred was grunting in pain and the knights were ready to fight and the Disir - they stared, and watched, and waited, like they knew that Arthur would fight, and they would win in the end because they were the almighty Disir.

"Merlynn!" Arthur screamed, his voice raw and broken. "Pull back!"

She pushed the others back out of the cave, but she remained, unarmed. The Crone - who, in another name, was called Death, the final vision before one was sent into the next life - threw her staff at her. She deflected it and sent it off its path toward the wall, where it embedded into stone. The middle one, Mother, looked at her then. The angle of her face made the light show her face; in particular, her eyes. They were black, dead and cold like stone. Yes, that's what they are, she thought. Stone. Unfeeling, dead stone. Before they could speak to her, utter the name she was given by the Druids, she turned and ran out to the others.

They rode to Camelot soon after. If she were to do anything, it would have to be done in the safety of Gaius' chambers. Mordred's wound was deep, gaping and bleeding and he was slowly, but surely, dying. The journey back could cost him his life but it had to be done. Merlynn was elected to carry his body, keep it propped up in front of hers; she had done it before, carry an injured body, and he was limp and heavy as expected. Luckily, Firefoot was a talented horse and rode back to Camelot without much direction from her master. Mordred's head lolled onto her shoulder, his breath damp and weak on her jaw. His body shook, fingers twitching where one hand fell to her thigh, the other loosely grasped in hers. 'You must not fail again.' Kilgharrah said it was necessary to kill him. Sometimes, she thought, to save a tree, the ivy must be cut.

But could she? He was her friend, and she trusted him. He trusted her - with his life, she'd bet. And she had a choice, whether to let the wound go unhealed and have him die, or to risk Mordred turning evil at the end of it all. Merlynn didn't know what to do. If she went against Kilgharrah again, then what was the point of her asking for his guidance? But, if she didn't, she would have lost a friend and so would Arthur. She didn't think he would be able to handle someone else close to him dying. He had already lost so many; to lose another would be... unthinkable.

She bound his wound with some spare cloth and wiped the blood from his face once they touched ground for the evening, but there was little else she could do. Merlynn was trying to severe a tie between herself and Mordred, like she tried to do when he was a boy and Arthur was trying to save him - history was repeating itself, it seemed. Last time, her attempt at leaving him to die failed. Perhaps she could do it this time, let him die. Everything seemed to be working in Kilgharrah's favour, as though this was a test to not only Arthur, but herself.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you could do?" Magic. The word was soundless between them but there all the same.

She shook her head and rocked back on her heels. "This is beyond what I can do. We'll need to get to Gaius."

"I'm worried he won't survive it," Arthur admitted, rubbing at his eyes. He cursed, fist slamming against the rock beside him. "I should have never let him come."

"He wanted to prove himself," to her, the words were empty.

"And he has. He's saved my life for the second time."

Merlynn bit at her bottom lip and touched his wound again; whatever had tipped the staff was now coursing through his veins, worsening with each pump of his heart. He gasped and wildly, reached out to take hold of her hand. Mordred squeezed tight and dug his nails into her flesh. He turned, weakly and barely, but he turned as though he was trying to crawl toward her, even though his eyes were squeezed shut. Merlynn shushed him with a kiss to his head, then moved so his head was in her lap and her fingers were raking through his damp hair. Could she kill him? Now, when he was like a child again, vulnerable and searching for a source of warmth and familiarity?

"Merlynn -" she looked at him, wide-eyed and brimming with tears. He sighed, "Can you just do something? A small healing spell - anything?"

"I fear that I might make it worse. I've never dwelled in the magic of the Disir, or in the Triple Goddess. All I know is they're strong, much stronger than me, and they use magic from the heart of the Old Religion," she told him and heard Mordred gasp beneath her, back arching upwards, face twisted in agony. "I just... don't know."

"Okay," he said, and that was all he said. "Okay."

Merlynn was covered in his blood. Even when she tried to scrub it off once they returned to Camelot, it didn't seem to wash away. It was gone, physically, washed away by the water and sponge, but she could feel it still. His blood, tainting her clothes and her hands and face. Tears stung at her eyes and her hands shook when she realised that this was what Kilgharrah wanted - his blood on her hands, despite the guilt, despite the heart-wrenching pain she would feel. He would let it happen, just for the death of one man.

"This is no ordinary wound," she heard Gaius say. Mordred was now bandaged properly, and placed in Merlynn's old bed. He was sleeping, or unconscious, but one hand reached out, splayed with his palm out, stretched toward the edge of the bed. It seemed to be reaching out for her. But it could have been a coincidence, as one's body did move of its own accord during sleep, so she didn't dwell on it. Merlynn was far away, trying to rid herself of the sickening curl in her stomach at the sight of him so vulnerable and small, and the increasing desire to hold him close and heal him of all his pain. "There is magic at play."

"Can you save him?" Arthur asked, desperate.

"I am but a physician - there are limits to my knowledge," he replied.

He sighed and scratched at his jaw; he was older, the premature wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth revealing themselves much more than they used to. He was stressed and she was making it worse by being unhelpful, by watching rather than doing. "There must be... something that can be done," his voice was hoarse, as though he was going to cry.

"Perhaps," he mused. "I shall do everything in my power, sire."

"Let me know the moment he improves...or..." he trailed off as he stood and left without another word.

Merlynn moved from the doorway to the seat Arthur had taken. She didn't make a sound, not even when Gaius did, expecting her to say that she would save him and that everything was going to be fine. But she was quiet and utterly empty, her body complacent and terse. He looked at her, and he almost seemed to be disappointed in her lack of sympathy.

"Only your magic can save him, Merlynn," Gaius said, and she knew it was probably true. He had told her before that she was one of the most powerful beings he had ever seen; 'a child born of magic', she was, and that was what made her more powerful than a sorcerer, made her match with Morgana.

"I... don't think I can," she confessed, her voice hollow.

"If Mordred is destined to take the king's life, why has he just saved it?" he asked her.

Merlynn took a deep breath; he was right, though, of course he was right. But then why did Kilgharrah sound so worried, so determined to make her kill him. She didn't think he would make her kill a man without a purpose behind it, especially one of her kin. Even though she loved Mordred, she loved Arthur and Albion more. "I can't ignore what Kilgharrah said."

He was gaping at her, and she wondered what she looked like. If her eyes were darker, empty, if her skin was pallid and cold or if her hair had suddenly been lit with hellfire. "What happened to the young girl who came into my chambers all those years ago?"

Eight years. Eight years ago she had been barely a woman then, still a child; she had been scared, a little confused and lost and she just wanted to learn. And then Arthur was in her life and she was destined to protect him. That was what happened, she wanted to say. Her destiny; death and destruction and blood, so much blood. She was going to drown in it soon. "She grew up," was all she said, rough and grating and hard as stone. She was still Merlynn, but she wasn't. She was older and tougher and she didn't want to care about Mordred so much. But she did and she wasn't allowed to - it was killing her. Her loyalty was to Arthur though, and she had to do whatever it took to make sure that he was alive. Even if that meant taking a life. "And she learned the meaning of duty."

"So you'd let him die?"

"For Arthur, yes," her voice cracked on the last word, and she paused. But the words were said on pure obligation, without the conviction she would usually speak. Would she let him die? Arthur would never forgive her if he knew that she was going to sacrifice him, because he wouldn't know why - he couldn't know why. No, a man should never know his own destiny.

Gaius lied to Arthur, in the end. He didn't want to, she knew, but he was ready to take the path of unrighteousness alongside her. He would burn with her. Merlynn barely heard what he had said to him, something along the lines of it being, "beyond remedy. I'm afraid we must prepare ourselves for the worst." But that was not all he said, she began to realise, as she came into focus. "Only the Disir themselves have the power to counteract their own sorcery."

She wasn't sure if it was true, but what she did know was that Arthur was a man driven to keep the ones he cared for alive. Merlynn wondered if Gaius had said that on purpose, to lure her out of her desire to kill a man, to try and turn her back into what she used to be. Faintly, she thanked him, for it gave her the chance to repent and try and change her ways, but she also hated him. He was making it all the more difficult to keep to her word.

"I'll go to them." She knew Arthur would, and there would be no way to stop him.

**[][][][][][]**

It was dusk once they returned to Caerlanrigh.

The magic was still the same, that consuming, constricting power, but it was different. It was more dangerous; they were unwanted visitors now, criminals and trespassers in the eyes of the Disir, so their magic changed with them. Arthur could feel it too, she guessed, as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight as though that alone would protect her. The sun was melting into the mountains and the path was slowly turning into an ashy blur that she had to squint to see. Perhaps that was a reflection of their destiny, she thought.

"_Why_ do you risk so much for one man?" she asked.

"I would do the same for any knight," he answered simply. "Mordred saved my life. What greater debt could there be?"

"The debt to your people, to your destiny," she supplied.

Arthur eyed her curiously. "I'm wondering why you're not concerned about Mordred. I thought you cared about him as much as I did, if not more."

"I do, it's just - I care about you more, and if him dying was to save your life, then perhaps that was fate," she tried to conjure up a lie, any lie, to diffuse his point away. He was right, and he had every right to question her considering that, only a week before, she was spending most of her time with the boy.

"What's gotten into you?" he seemed angry with her. Oh, how she wished she could tell him: 'I was told he would kill you, Arthur, side with Morgana and end your life. I watched it happen, I watched blood paint the grass and the sky blacken into ashes. I watched you sink to the ground and crumble beneath his hands. He's good now, Arthur, and perhaps he'll still be good, but maybe I can't take that chance because I love you and you're the centre of my universe, as you always have been. I'd kill for you, and if it meant killing what's left of me, then that's what I'll have to do.' But she didn't.

No, she didn't. Perhaps she should have, maybe it would have made things different, but she pursed her lips and bit her tongue. "Nothing. I'm just..."

"You're what?"

"I don't know. I'm just worried, I guess," she sighed and raked her fingers through the messy curls that stuck to her neck. "Let's just get on and speak to the Disir before he dies, alright?"

They reached the cave again, but this time, Arthur tugged the sword from his belt and dug it into the dirt beside him. He looked resonant, tired and defeated, but he still managed to give her a pointed glance. "I am not totally insensitive, Merlynn. I can see that some people feel this is a sacred place. I am even prepared to admit that you are right sometimes."

"There's a first," she remarked, and he almost smiled.

As they went inside, he made sure to avoid the relics and the hanging runes. He was taking special care to not disrupt it, the mere presence of magic and she was proud of him, then. Arthur was ready to right the wrongs he had done, repent for all the mistakes he made the last time - all to get Mordred back. How could the Triple Goddess hate him so? Yes, he was arrogant and sometimes blind, but he was kind and compassionate on most days and he was always ready to hear what others had to say.

"Arthur Pendragon," the Mother drawled, her tone mocking.

"King of Camelot," the Crone added.

"We've been expecting you," crooned the Maiden, bitter-sweet.

"My men and I behaved with arrogance and stupidity," he declared and splayed his arms wide. "We dishonoured this place and insulted your faith. I humbly beg your forgiveness. One amongst us, Sir Mordred... may yet pay the ultimate price. I have come here to petition you for his life."

"Why should we help you?" the Mother bit out.

Arthur stepped forward, daring to be bold and sure. "I ask not for myself, but for a young man whose only crime was to sacrifice himself for his king."

She was cruel and bitter and still mocking, her voice like honey, sickly sweet and thick. "The future holds much pain and suffering for you, Arthur Pendragon."

"For you, and for your people."

"If you wish to save all those you hold dear," the Crone said.

"If you wish to save your kingdom."

"Embrace the Old Religion." The Mother was her least favourite, by far.

The Maiden inclined her head. "Learn her ways."

"Bow to the Goddess."

"You know I can't do that," his voice shook, and he glanced at her. But she looked to the floor, at her feet, her hands; anything but him. Magic was who she was, but she was also him, a part of him as he was her, and she didn't want to force him into accepting that part of her he didn't fully understand into the whole of his kingdom. Morgana would have won then, and he didn't want that.

"Consider carefully," the Mother hissed. "You have until dawn."

Dawn seemed so close. It wasn't even midnight yet, and it was still too close for her comfort. By dawn he would have to choose whether to bring magic into Camelot, or ban it forever and have Mordred's death on his hands, rather than hers. That made everything worse. Arthur sat across from her while the fire stood as the only barrier between them, and she would take it. She didn't want to be too near him now, where she could touch him and fall into the comfort that was forever him - he was her warmth and her sanctuary, but she didn't deserve that. No, she deserved to be smote by the Goddess, sent to the darkest plain of the universe and sent there forever.

"How did you know this place was sacred?" An odd question to ask, considering where they were and the decision he had to make in a few hours.

But she answered, "It's obvious."

"Pretend it isn't."

"It might be my magic, but... everything seems to be so alive here. It's as though the world is vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself," she said it softly, so softly it seemed to catch on the wind and turn into the breeze and the cold. Merlynn was tired, but the place was beautiful and she didn't want to sleep until Arthur had made his decision.

He was silent as he looked at her, like he was seeing her again for the first time in a new light. It was scary and odd and she was almost fearful of his next sentence. "You see all that?" She nodded. "How I would love to see things, to feel things, the way you do."

Her mouth turned up wryly. "It's not all beauty. You would go mad. I don't know how I haven't - perhaps I already have," she mused. "I can feel the magic, yes, but that's not always a good thing. Feeling magic is... unexplainable. Each person's magic has a different feel."

"What's Morgana's like?"

"_Poison_," her answer was curt. "It wasn't always like that, though. It was bright and buzzing like a bird once, like the sun and a gentle breeze." She smiled, though it was sad and nostalgic. "We're connected now, very much so. I fear that if she dies I'd be able to feel it. So that's how I always know she's coming, that she's so much stronger than before, that she's not dead - even when everyone else thought she was."

"What do you mean, connected?" he asked, brows furrowed.

Merlynn shrugged. "I'm not sure if it's always been like that. I mean, I've always been able to sense magic - always. In a place, or a thing, or a person. I can feel magic and it's imprint that a sorcerer leaves upon the world. It's like a scent, almost, or a feeling that's just there's. _Magic_... it's a part of that person's heart. Like Morgana. The more evil she became, her magic turned darker and tainted. It tastes like sulphur when she's around, like ash and death and it's weird. When I consumed her magic, it combined with mine, so that's why we're connected properly now - there's a part of her in me still, I'm guessing, a small part. I consumed her darkest magic, made it my own."

"How?"

"When we fought with Tristan and Isolde," she explained. Merlynn had forgotten about them, and wondered where they were. She hoped they were away from the madness, in a place loving and warm and free of the evil that she and Arthur seemed to bring along with them. "When Morgana couldn't use her magic to beat us. I snuck off one night and drained her of her magic - the more she tried to use it, the more it drained until it was gone. I was at my most powerful then."

"You... consumed her evil."

"No, I consumed her magic. Magic and evil are two different things - evil lies in the hearts of men, but magic is wielded to project that evil and so, it's a misconception. People are evil; magic is a tool to bend and create it, but it's also used for good," Merlynn told him, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. "Morgana's magic only feels evil because her heart has been taken by her evil, twisted and frayed. Even Mordred felt it."

Arthur nodded, thumb brushing against his jaw. He settled back against the rock behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. "What does Mordred's magic feel like?"

"Like wet grass in a meadow," she said almost immediately, without thought. He looked at her, confused, his expression twisted. "I don't know how, but it does. It's fresh and since we're connected as well, it's a nice change from Morgana's dark magic. He's powerful, too, so much more than I'll ever give him credit for. That's why I think he'll pull through this because he's fought this whole time, through so much, and he's still survived - just like we have."

"I hope so." He paused, then asked, "What about yours?"

"My what?"

"Your magic. What does that... _feel like_?"

"I don't really know," she admitted, scratching at her head. Merlynn looked down at her fingernails, torn and bitten, the complete opposite of how a queen's nails should look like. "To me... it feels almost like a snake. But, to Mordred, it... it's weird how he explains it. Since he's a Druid and he first met me as Emrys, I've always seemed powerful to him because he knew me as the being from stories that he had been told as a child. But apparently, I'm 'true power' to him, like the sky or something... You'd have to ask him. Does my magic feel like anything to you?"

"Sometimes. When you use it around me, it's like warmth... or something, I don't know. You are really powerful, though, that's as much as I know," he shrugged, and ruffled his hair. A little laugh broke from his chest, but it was neither full or humour or any feeling at all. "I don't know much about magic, do I? All I know is the misery it brings. Before my father outlawed magic, Camelot was almost destroyed by sorcery. In my own time, Morgana has used it for nothing but evil." Arthur looked up at her again, but his eyes were wide, raw and exposed and unbidden. "What would you do - in my place, I mean?"

Merlynn thought it over. It's all she seemed to be doing, thinking and thinking and never being conclusive because how could she make a decision between a man and a kingdom? Her destiny? It was ultimately Arthur's choice, but her opinion could, in the end, sway him. What would happen, if he brought magic into the kingdom? What would change... would anything change? "You have to protect Camelot," she said finally. "The Goddess can be merciful, I gather, since she's giving you a chance to redeem yourself. I think you should accept their offer."

"If I do save Mordred, all my father's work will be for_ nothing_," Arthur argued. "Sorcery will reign once more in Camelot. Is that what you'd want?" He grit his teeth and then, after a moment, said, "Perhaps my father was wrong, perhaps the old ways aren't as evil as we thought. So what should we do? Accept magic? Or let Mordred die?"

"All my life I've been waiting for myself, and people like myself, to be respected," she told him. "I think... accepting magic, Arthur, will be what will make your kingdom a fair and just one. You can still persecute a sorcerer, but only if they've done something to be persecuted for - before, they were being burnt at the stake or captured and sold as prizes, just for being." Damn Kilgharrah, damn them all. She would face the future, the bloodshed and the death, but she would not kill Mordred. "Ultimately, it's your choice Arthur, but maybe it's time."

It was a restless night for them both, and she did not sleep. Neither did Arthur, but he clutched to her, clinging to her waist as if she would run off into the night and never return. The idea was ludicrous because, while she was afraid, she was never one to flee, rather fight, especially if Arthur was involved. She would never - could never - leave him. Merlynn loved him too much; too much had happened between them, as lovers, as companions. So at dawn, as golden threads pierced the sky, they returned to the Disir's cave. It was far too bright a day for such trepidation, she thought.

Arthur's decision was still unknown to her, and she doubted the Goddess had whispered his answer to the Disir yet. In the end, though, it was his choice - it was always going to be Arthur's choice - and her opinions were basically invalid in the end of it all. But the look on his face screamed determination, and she hoped that he wouldn't choose a path without acknowledging the consequences.

"You have returned," the Mother spoke first, as she always seemed to.

The Crone grinned, and she saw her teeth, rotted and black. "Is your decision made?"

"I have decided that I will strive do you as you asked," Arthur answered. Merlynn wasn't sure if it was pride - or an odd foreboding - she was feeling, as she watched the Disir smile at them.

"You have made your decision."

"Sealed your fate."

"And that of your kingdom."

They sounded pleased. "Farewell, Arthur Pendragon," they said in unison.

"Farewell," he replied.

"Emrys," her name from the Mother's lips came with a sharp tingle in her spine, and she turned to face the soothsayers. The Mother's smile was wicked, sharp and vicious, and Merlynn felt like a mouse staring at a snake. She was powerful, yes, but she didn't have the Goddess on her side. "You have thrived long with punishment and torment."

"Thank you," she bowed respectively, though her eyes never left the three before her.

The Maiden, with her sweet voice, added, "You have faced many a trial, and have passed through with good will and compassion. You are Emrys, the leader of the Druids - the destroyer, ever immortal. Your time has come. Your final trial is about to take it's course."

"Will I find peace?"

The Crone's mouth turned down, and it was as though she pitied her. "Only time will tell, Emrys," she said. "But your pain is far from over."

She wasn't sure what it meant, but she felt fear slice through her. Their words were riddled and mixed, unfocused like a blurred mirror, and she was unable to truly take meaning to their words - but she acknowledged them all the same. Merlynn knew better than to brush off the words of a soothsayer. "I do not know how to respond to you, but I thank you for you have said," was all she could say. Anything else would have been jibberish; she felt like screaming and she wanted to tear the place apart, but she would not do that. "Farewell."

Then Arthur took her by the arm and she was being dragged from that place until she was out in the fresh air, gasping and on her knees. Merlynn didn't understand why her chest was suddenly constricted, why tears were streaming down her cheeks, why her head was throbbing and aching but she dug her fingers in the dirt and wept away. Something was terribly wrong with what the Disir said, something only her mind could comprehend, but it hadn't caught up to her yet. Her mind was a fuzzy blur. Arthur's arms were faint around her, as were the kisses on her temple and the sweet words he said, but she leaned into him anyway and returned his embrace desperately. When her body became exhausted, she stopped crying, limp against her husband's body.

He was quick to lift her into his arms and carry her away from that place, back to the camp where they had spent the night wrapped in each others arms. Once he set her down, she was unfeeling and quiet and she doubted Arthur knew why she was feeling such a thing - truth was, she didn't either. Perhaps it was the effect of Caerlanrigh as a whole, or the Disir's words, or the entirety of the decision they had made and the allegations behind them. He held onto her anyway, brushing away her stray tears and pressing his mouth tenderly to her skin.

"We'll work this out," he whispered to her. "We always do. It'll be okay."

We always do. It was something she had once depended on, the fact that they always walked out of a battle or an issue with each other. Together. But now, as her final trial was ahead of them, she wondered just what she would walk away from the battle with, or what she would have to sacrifice in the end. As she began to really think about what the Disir said to her, she realised just what she had been so upset about. The Immortal, she had been called. She thought about that once, her rarely aging, her living on and on until the sea swallowed the world or fire raged down and the gods gave humans their wrath, but she brushed it off and never thought of it again. But now, she knew. When her friends aged, withered and died around her, she would stand and fight and go on.

It was the cruelest punishment ever dealt to a person, and she wondered why she had been destined to go through so much pain.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred was alive and well when they returned. He was sitting on the bottom of the steps in the courtyard, hands stretched on his knees waiting for them to return. And when he saw them, a smile lit up his features and he raced toward them, reaching her first. Merlynn dismounted as quick as she could and met him halfway, her arms wrapped impossibly tight around his frame. She was going to cry soon, she noticed, as water welled in her closed eyes, but she forced them back and pulled closer to the Druid boy. He pressed a kiss to her ear and her temple, muttering, "Emrys," which was so different to how the Disir had said it. His was sweet, thankful, relieved, while theirs was merciless, detached, pitying.

"I'm glad you're alive," she whispered into his throat.

"All thanks to you, and Arthur," he replied. Then, as Mordred pulled away, he was tugged into another hug from Arthur, manlier but nonetheless full of relief.

Merlynn dismissed herself soon after the two men began to chat about what had happened. She was stifled around them; she needed confinement and peace. It was funny, she thought, as she raced up the stairs to her chambers, that she had been so eager to leave her room and now she was desperate to return to it. But all she could think was - even if Arthur didn't die on a battlefield, he would die eventually, and she wouldn't. She wasn't allowed to die.

When she finally came to her chamber, she screamed. She screamed and screamed until she couldn't see anymore, until the colours of the room, the blues and the reds and gold all blurred together. Things were crashing around her, but she could barely hear it until something bounded past her arm with extreme force and her wails were cut off.

"Merlynn -!" she heard, and she felt arms capture her again.

It was Arthur. Warm, safe - _dying_ - Arthur. He was going to die, and she wasn't, he was always going to die and she was going to be left alone. And she became a mess, then. She wasn't Emrys then, the destroyer, the immortal, the great and powerful. No, she was a girl then, broken and shaking, clutching onto Arthur like she was weak. Because she was weak, amongst the wreckage that was once their room, and it was then that she desired the protection he had always offered. To be wrapped up in his warms, safe and loved and protected.

He was whispering again, "Whatever's wrong, we'll fix it. It'll be okay."

"No, it's not!" she wailed up to the golden blur that was her husband. "This can't be fi - fixed, it's n - not go - oing to be okay!"

Arthur kissed her head, wiped the tears away, but she couldn't stop crying. He pressed her head to his shoulder, fingers curling into the hair at the crown of her head, unable to do anything else. "What is it?" he asked her, voice soft and soothing. She realised faintly that they were on the floor. "We just accepted magic in Camelot. You should be overjoyed -"

"You're going to die," she told him.

"What?" he tensed under her.

"I - I don't know when, but you're going to die and I can't stop it. I'm supposed to - to protect you and keep you safe and_ you're going to die_ and there's nothing I can do," she sobbed, fingers clutching weakly at the chain mail near his shoulders. "I'm going to be left alone on this earth while everyone dies around me and I can't stop it. I'm going to be the_ last_ thing on this earth."

She must have been barely coherent, inaudible beneath her wailing sobs and gasping breaths, but he kissed her again, pressing incessantly at her lips as though to comfort her. "No, you won't. We're going to grow old together, see? I promise you that."

Her laugh was a bitter, dry thing. "Didn't you hear them? I'm the immortal one - I can't die._ Don't you see?_ That's why I've _always_ survived - the gods won't let me die. They're cruel and insatiable and merciless, that's what they are. I was destined to protect you, only to watch you die some day. They're so cruel. We are their amusement, Arthur," she glared bitterly through the ceiling, up to the sky where she knew the gods were watching them, probably laughing over their most delicious wine. "You're going to get old, and I'll be young forever. Only spells will age me, but even those are weakening and temporary."

Arthur looked at her, tugging her head back so he could press his forehead to hers, and he looked sad himself. "I'm still going to protect you, though," he said then, laughing a little. She scoffed at him. "I told you, though, whatever it is, we'll get through it. We'll find a way, Merlynn._ I swear to you._"

He kissed her and she felt, if only for a moment, that he was right.

* * *

**So a bit of fluff for you - a bit of depressing fluff, but whatever. **

**Scribbler95: **hauughheheuugh you thought I'd kill him. I couldn't kill Mordred - I think he was going to live no matter what Arthur chose in the end, because he was punishment. And in a way now, perhaps, he could be Merlynn's punishment. Hmmm? ;)

**allenleonardo: **Okey, this is going to be a long answer. Bare with me. It seems that way because I am making it that way - they're not drifting apart per say, but Merlynn is definitely... becoming more Emrys than Merlynn. Now that she has more confidence and reign on her magic, which in past seasons she has been unsure, if not a little scared of, she wants to use it more and be... freer with it than she has before. And goodness no! I'd never ever make Merlynn leave Arthur - as I've written above in the chapter, they've been too much and she's sacrificed and done so much just to be with him. What good is all that pain if she was just going to leave him for Mordred? And also, I'm kind of making their relationship not-so-right on purpose. Perhaps in that last chapter, but in this chapter there's a rekindling that I wanted because I wanted Merlynn to see that she does need him, that while he is frustrating and such, that he is also everything she needs and wants and yeah wow i'm horrible at explaining. Perhaps I'll be able to make sense of it when it's not this late of an evening. In accordance to the Mordred thing - she didn't change her opinion of him, she was just... trying to make sense of what Kilgharrah was trying to make her do. Because he doesn't just say things - there's always some reason to why he's saying it, and she didn't want to just... brush it off like she's done before. But she did in the end - and that's just what Merlynn does. Loyalty comes first.

**Guest: **Not sure if I can do all that~

**Oleander-Nyx: **Aw, thank you!

**LeArtemis 1234: **Yes, she is immortal, as you can see :3

**Corey Youngblood: **Because witches/wizards/sorcerers whatever are connected to their magic, and magic is based in the earth. Camelot is stone and cut off from the forest (the castle, i mean) and she has been so used to going out on adventures often and being able to collect herbs for Gaius and do whatever needs to be done out in the forest but now, she's stuck in there signing parchment and she hates it. And she's been stuck in there because there's things to be done! Like council meetings and tax orders and other queenly things that needs to be done, I guess.

**ClumsyCassandra: **At first, it wasn't the plan - but yes, I guess it's just realistic. I mean, marriage isn't always supposed to be cute and cuddly and whatever, and they certainly don't classify as a normal couple. I just, as well as what I mentioned in **allenleonardo's** review, wanted to make their relationship a little realistic. Couples sometimes drift, and come back together - which they have - and _yeah. _

**Sunflowers in Moscow: **because I'm just so evil, haueuhfgubhh! I love Mordred too, and I love the dynamic between them, and I just ship Merdred a little too hard. I mean, Merthur otp but still... sigh. I love him and I love them and Mordred is just so in love with her in such an innocently twisted and dark way. I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS FOR ALL OF IT. But be forewarned, Merlynn may be giving in to her dark side just a little bit - small bits and pieces have been placed throughout this story as a whole, and I'm building it up to something because I do love dark!Merlin/ynn

**Ryn of Magic: **Well spotted, reader! You understood it :3


	10. The Dark Tower: Taken

**Yes, it's been too long. Far, _far _too long, but school has been a massive impact on my life as of late. I had half-yearly exams, prep for that, I had so many things going on and it just drained me to the point where writing this seemed like a _chore - _I didn't want to give you work that felt like I was forced to do it, ugh. **

**I'm so terribly sorry. **

**But I'm here now - I had to edit this once again because I had another damn idea (which ended up changing the entire chapter _oops). _Hope you enjoy it thought.**

**CHAPTER 10 - THE DARK TOWER**

_The deeper you dig, the darker it gets  
There's nowhere else for us to go  
We live while we learn, and then we forget  
We'll never find our way back home_

_- 'Empire (Let Them Sing)' by Bring Me the Horizon._

* * *

A bird sung somewhere atop the hill. She could not see it, for there were no trees for it to sit in, but she could hear its song and it almost made the moment more lovely than it was. Gwen shut her eyes and listened to the bird, pulling her furs further about her shoulders - Winter was near, though it was still warm in Camelot. Here, deep into Arthur's lands and near the White Mountains, the wind was cool and sharp against her skin and she could almost smell the sea.

Here was where her father lay. Gwen remembered that day; her wails, clutching desperately onto his ashen hand, praying for him to be alive. But he was carted off to be turned to dust and she refused them, shouting and kicking and screaming until Morgana finally pleaded with Uther to let him be buried properly. That was the first time Uther ever showed her mercy. Though, when the king died years later, she felt no sorrow for him, but rather pity for Arthur, and for Merlynn who had to stitch the broken boy-king back together.

Uther was buried in the heart of Camelot's castle in the burial chambers, his coffin made of the finest marble - her father was carried to the top of the mountain and buried beneath the earth where he belonged, where his spirit could see the rolling mountains and the sunny plains, the hint of an ocean and the glorious kingdom that he was born in. Gwen decided that, when she passed, she would like to join him.

"He was a good father." Her sweet brother settled his arm around her waist and kissed her skin, his smile slight. "I'm glad we came." Elyan did not see their father since years before his death, and so she imagined how much worse the loss was to him, clutching him closer.

Gwen wiped a tear from her eye and set the small bunch of daisies - the only flowers she found along the bottom of the hill - on her father's grave. There was not much she could do to honour his death, for he wasn't a man who was interested in material things, physical declarations of affection, but it was all she could do. "Even after all these years I still miss him."

"So do I," said Elyan, his voice tight and gripped with pain.

Merlynn insisted that there be five knights guarding her, including Elyan. She could not guess why she had so many protect the queen's _maidservant, _but she did not argue with her - it would have ended with her losing, regardless. Merlynn's only words had been; "_if I can't be there to keep you safe, then I'll just have to use other methods, won't I?" _Her maternal, protective nature was flattering, and she thanked the men countless times for being so willing, though it was a slight hit to her ego to have Merlynn so worried that she would be hurt.

They spoke of her father on the journey back, even the few that did not know him, and she smiled and knew that he would have gleamed at the praise. Leon was the one who said the most, for he grew up beside her since they were babes and knew her father the best out of the knights. The others, namely Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival, spoke only of their regret of not meeting him. Mordred only kept silent as usual, watching and listening, a little smile on his young face.

"I think that he'd be proud," Leon declared, surety dripping in his tone.

"Particularly of Elyan," she said.

"Me?"

"Not because you're a knight, but because of the man you've become." Giddiness spread through her like ink on fresh linen - it must have been the heat on her neck, or the journey to see her father's grave, but she was laughing and teasing, eyes crinkled and shoulders slung back.

Elyan scoffed, "I don't think so."

"She's right," Percival was grinning at them, a twinkle in his eye. "You're outstanding, especially when it comes to sweet-talk the ladies if nothing else."

Gwen fought back a smirk at the red flush that blossomed on her brother's cheeks and then slapped at at arm. She was a curious woman, wide-eyed and unable to help herself when it came to knowing things - she liked to discover, and this was a detail she just couldn't miss. "_What?" _

"Don't listen to him," Elyan begged and sent a venomous glare to Percival.

"No," Leon teased. "Elyan's only in love with one woman."

"Who?"

"You!" Elyan said, but she knew he was lying.

Gwen sighed. "Tell me. I'm your sister."

"Has Merlynn not told you?" Lancelot asked with a small chortle.

"She knows?" she gaped at them all, and they nodded. "She hasn't told me - but she will once we get back."

"She's told you who Gwaine's in love with though, right?" Elyan tried to get the subject off of him. _Yes, _she thought. _Merlynn. _Gwen was quite aware of it - she was sure that anyone with an eye or ear knew about his affections. There were times when the topic would move to her, and Gwaine would go off in tangents about her, about the smallest things (her eyes, her hair, her talents; anything), and sometimes he would look at her and wouldn't be able to look away until he was physically steered from her, but she had hope that his love was fading.

Merlynn and Arthur were together, and they would be together until the very end of all - she knew this, and she knew he did, too. Gwen pitied him for loving a woman who was so sworn to another, though she prided him on his ability to keep it away (as much as one could, of course).

"Himself," she said because it wasn't wholly a lie, and they all laughed.

They kept riding for hours in a heedless speed once they left the White Mountains, but as the sun hit the top of the sky, they reached Camelot. Gwen brushed her hand against Lady's - a mare she had fallen in love with - sweaty flank with a silent promise for oats and water once they returned home as reward, and she heard Lady snort in thanks. Lancelot, who rode beside Leon at the front, turned to her and winked, but then she watched as his face contorted into concern as his horse veered beneath him. Both their horses bucked and went mad once they hit the grass, positively terrified of something that she could not see.

"Run!" Gwaine was shouting as the two knights fell. "_Run!" _

"Get to the trees," Elyan grabbed her reins and moved the head of her horse away from the field. "Go."

She didn't have time to stop him, because her horse began to move and she had to get away. Gwen wasn't a fighter, she couldn't defend herself against much - one small tussle with Morgana, plus a handful of others didn't make her a competent fighter, and she was terrified of snakes. As she pushed Lady deeper into the forest away from the field, she saw flashes of black against the blurred green-brown of the forest and she felt a sudden fear grip her. Morgana, her dress of black lace and wire, stood before her, mad and dangerous.

Gwen didn't see Mordred, but she saw his hands on Lady's flank and she was pushed in the opposite direction, and heard him shout, "I'll deal with her!" She didn't even have a choice. Her hands were shaking as she raced further and further away, a desperation she had never felt before consuming her very being, but she knew she had escaped. A choice decision made her turn her head back to Morgana and Mordred, hoping she would see the young knight standing tall above a fallen priestess, but it was a silly hope to have.

Mordred was among the leaves at Morgana's feet and she was touching his cheek with a mockery of affection. Gwen was too scared to turn back, for it was a fool's game to think she would win, so she kept running.

**[][][][][][]**

There were many things that Merlynn enjoyed about being with Arthur.

Feeling his mouth on her skin, for example. His warm breath would fan across her chilled skin from the evening air, then his tongue would slather over her breasts, her throat, the spot on her collarbone that made her thighs tremble. With his mouth, came his hands - broad and burly and rough - with strong fingers that would follow with soft, firm touches, forcing noises from her throat and sent her tumbling over with a shocking force.

What she liked even more than that, though, was his emotion. His possessive nature, his insecurities, all would come pouring from him with violent thrusts and white-hot pressure on her wrists. He was sweet, but at the same time rough, bordering on violent, pulling her hips up with his short nails embedded into her skin, his teeth skimming across her neck. Sometimes all she could do was clutch onto his shoulders, rake her nails down his back, cry out and react to him.

Merlynn enjoyed his sweet side as much as his aggressive one, for he would nuzzle into her neck and wind her legs around his waist, slow and deep until she was pleading for him to finish her off. This was one of these days; his mouth on her breast, one palm pressed to her thigh, lazy and slow. She rotated her hips and clenched, watching with a grin as his eyes rolled back in his head and he emitted something between a groan and a growl, his other hand moving to wind their fingers together. They came together - her, gasping and trembling, and he biting into her throat.

When they were spent, she kissed him again, fingers winding into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I lo - "

"Sire!"

Arthur buried his face into her shoulder and moaned in frustration. "This had better be important," he grumbled, nose at her throat.

"It must be." She slid from beneath him and threw on his tunic before opening the door; she must have looked a horrid, sex-ridden fright, but she did not care. Gwaine stood at the door, pale and panting, his brown eyes frightened. Without a word spoken between them she went to him and took his face in her hands, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. "Gwaine, what's happened?"

"It's Lancelot - and Leon," he stammered, his trembling fingers on her wrists. "We - we were escorting Gwen back from her father's grave and then there were snakes and they've been bitten. You have to come - get Arthur as well."

"What about Gwen?" she asked, a fear she hadn't felt in a long time gripping at her chest.

"She's fine," he said but he tugged at his lip with his mouth and it was not all he had to say, "But Mordred's gone."

Merlynn's hands froze on his face; Mordred, who she had so much faith in, the one who would fight at her side, who thought so much of her, who was curious and hoped and wished for a better time - he was gone. The person she trusted with such secrets - he, who knew more of her than she did - had been taken from her, and she didn't doubt there would be consequences.

She felt sobs curl in her throat, but she held them back and set her shoulders. "Okay," she said with a swallow. "We need to get to the others. Arthur," she shouted to her husband, "get to Gaius' chambers as fast as you can. Lancelot and Leon are hurt."

"What? I -"

"Hurry your arse up! I'll meet you there."

Merlynn didn't bother to put on trousers (though she was sure the servants and hand maidens would have a field day watching her run through the halls with Gwaine in nothing but a tunic) because she didn't think of it. All she needed to do was get to her friends, to try and solve whatever problem that had been caused; it was her duty, after all. She reached Gaius' chambers rather quickly, and immediately set to work. It was far more simple than she had thought to return into the role of the physician's assistant and he seemed rather thankful for the assistance.

"One gram?" she asked immediately.

"Two," he corrected.

"Then what?"

"Three grains."

No one paid mind to her current state of dress, and she was thankful as she ran into the storeroom where the most of his supplies were stored. While she collected the hollyhock, she could hear Arthur storm into the room and stir things up, shouting unnecessarily loud. Merlynn tried to ignore him, keep his worry from her mind so she wasn't distracted. If her mind left her, if she rushed or panicked, she would become sloppy and perhaps grab the wrong ingredients and then where would they be? So, she took a deep breath and grabbed the hollyhock, cradling the jar in her hands as she returned to the main chamber.

"We were riding. Came upon a nest of... snakes," Elyan was telling him. "Gwen and Mordred got away together, but... he never came back." He had Gwen trapped in his arms as she cried into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Merlynn," she whispered.

"We'll leave at dawn," she spoke up, ignoring Gwen.

"Merlynn -"

She turned, her eyes zeroing in on Gaius. He was staring at her with a look she knew too well; he wanted her to think it over, to rationalise. It wasn't as though she could simply discuss the matters behind it all, not when the others were around - even though most of them were unconscious. No, she needed to return Gwen home. "We will ride at dawn," she repeated again, for all to hear. Not even Arthur argued with her.

The others left after Gaius shooed them all away. Arthur lingered though, kissing her quickly and asking her to hurry to bed as they had to wake early. But they both knew that it would be a rarity if she did sleep, even as she smiled and promised him. Merlynn applied healing cream to the bites on Lancelot's hand; the snake bite was black and was ran through his veins like ink, pulsing in his blood vessels. She had been bitten by snakes before, but the wounds were never black. Black meant infection, death, but there was no pungent odour to it.

It was odd. "This is no accident," Gaius remarked.

"I thought as much."

"There is dark magic coursing through their veins," he elaborated. "By any right they should be dead."

Merlynn shrugged. "But they're not. They were lucky - we should be glad for it."

"It's not that I'm not glad, I just... fear that there's more to this than we think."

It was an intriguing matter, but she doubted that there was very much more to it. The only name that entered her mind when she thought about it was the obvious Morgana, and she didn't second guess it; there were many reasons why she would do such a thing, and she had the magic to achieve the black magic snakes to attack them. "Not really. It's Morgana's work," she said, taking quick work of checking Lancelot's pulse. Feverish, but not dangerous. "It has to be."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," she sighed, rubbing at her eye in frustration.

"Well, alright then," he replied. "I trust your judgement."

Gwen caught her as she left the chamber, her face wet with tears and fingers clutching onto the neck of her tunic. "I'm so sorry - Morgana, she came out and Mordred made me run and I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry, Merlynn," she sobbed.

Merlynn didn't say anything. Instead, she left and returned to her bedchamber so she could finally get some rest - though she wasn't even sure if she could sleep, what with Mordred being gone. The walk back was silent, but even that was suffocating; Gwen did not follow her. Gwen was safe, which she was glad for, but Mordred was barely a man and he was _gone._ But when she went to her chambers where Arthur was reading some nameless novel she had seen on his desk a thousand times over, her shoulders slumped and it was easy to settle into bed beside him, her leg slung over his thigh. He put his arm around her, but kept reading, and she imagined him some day with spectacles on his nose - the thought made her smile as his fingers ran through her loose hair.

"Is everything okay with Leon and Lancelot?" he asked, his mouth running over her forehead.

"Yes. They'll recover fine," she mumbled sleepily.

He smiled against her skin and squeezed her shoulder. "Good."

"Morgana took him." Arthur tensed; he loved Mordred as much as she, but he did not know the implications behind the kidnapping. Mordred could be manipulated, twisted beyond belief, and he could return and cause harm to Arthur, and she didn't know if she would be able to kill him.

"Okay," was all he said, before he kissed her head again and held her tight. "We'll find him. I promise. We will bring him home."

This time, she could not doubt him.

**[][][][][][]**

Morgana was staring at him. He was too terrified, too vulnerable to use magic against her yet - in time, he would, though he doubted that she would be surprised. Mordred was a defensive creature by nature, a dog who only attacked when provoked, so she kept a distance away while she watched. He pretended to be asleep, but that was no good for she kicked at his side and he launched up with a howl, clutching with bound hands at the throbbing area. Her smile was wicked, but when he looked at her again, it was soft and almost (but not quite) like how she used to be, but it wasn't. It was different, he was older and she was void of anything but darkness - she was the reason for Emrys' plight, and for that he hated her.

It was almost painful how much she had changed, though.

He remembered her when he was a boy; she was silk dresses and soft hair, lips red and face coloured. She was sweet, forgiving, seeking and hoping and she had been manipulated, yes, but she became darker and darker until she was nothing but it, black as a raven's wing. Now, she was cruel, merciless, her face pallid and eyes mad.

"Good morning, knight," she teased, her eyes alight.

"What do you want with me?"

"I thought we could play a game."

"A game?" he spat. Games were for children, simple, fun things like skipping and hide-and-seek and the like, but Morgana's intentions were dark and so very dangerous. There was nothing good that would come out of whatever sort of game Morgana wanted to play.

She smirked, a horrible thing. "Just to find out how much you're loved in Camelot," the word turned rancid in her mouth.

"It won't work."

"You underestimate your worth?" a light chuckle left her, as if she was amused by her insecurities. "You wear the uniform well but we both know what lies beneath. Do you think Arthur would tolerate you for one minute if he knew the truth? One of his knights, a sorcerer."

"He knows," he almost grinned when she reeled back a little in surprise. "He doesn't care."

"Well, that makes this even better," she composed herself. "This means they will come after you - you can count on that."

Mordred didn't think Emrys could hear him from this distance, but he prayed to her anyway; _'Please do not come for me,' _he begged. '_I'll be fine. Please, Emrys. Please.'_

**[][][][][][]**

All that was left of Mordred was his horse. The mare, whose name Merlynn had never come to learn, was docile and calm as the knights checked her over for any clues. She had been tied to a low branch by the reins, and given some apples to keep her alive. She almost smiled in amusement at the care Morgana took in keeping the horse safe, but thought otherwise, especially when she looked to was the most worried of the men, and he was becoming careless, aggressive, driven by the bond that he and Mordred shared. Gwaine was the very same, too, unable to focus on any task, whether it be collecting water or scouting, even though he gave a good image of being calm.

Merlynn was able to keep herself in a good state, though she doubted it would last long; by the end of it, she would be tearing the forest apart until she found Mordred again.

Percival crouched by the horse and palmed the dirt, noticing something that no one else could see. "Here. Tracks. They are heading east." He looked like a brute, but his intelligence lied in tracking and seeking, better than any other knight in their whole army.

"Lets go."

The day melted away as they kept riding after Mrodred, and soon they were swallowed by the night in the depths of the forest. Percival's keen eyes could see no more, even as he dismounted and crouched low to try and make shapes out of the odd patterns scattered across the forest floor.

"It's getting too dark," he cursed.

Arthur shook his head and said, "We need to keep heading east."

"We've lost the trail, Arthur," Leon pointed out. "We'll get lost."

"Arthur -" she called, but he kept on riding.

Merlynn sighed and tugged at her braid, then offered to go after him. He stood at the top of a cliff which spanned out the forest around them, where she could see the very tops of the thousands of trees, mountains and rolling hills, but none of them revealed where Mordred could be. Arthur was biting on his knuckle, concealed by his glove, and kicking at the dirt.

"He can't be far."

She dismounted and went to him, taking his other hand in hers. "We need to work together in this if we ever want to find her," she told him. "We'll lose him if we don't. It's why I'm not tearing through this forest right now." A hint of a smile touched at his mouth. "Come on. We'll make camp, get a fire going, in the morning we'll pick up the trail again."

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred was exhausted. He had long since stripped his thick, red cloak and some of his chain mail from the muggy heat of the forest, and he was half-tempted to strip down to his smallclothes just to escape it. Morgana offered water in the beginning, but after the fifth decline she gave up and pulled his rope tighter, and so his mouth was ashen, tongue thick and uncomfortable and his skin now heated and bright pink from the golden sun. They were not on Camelot's land anymore, he guessed, they mustn't. He was lead through a forest broken and twisted with vines and thorns, and then into a terrain so dry he could feel _heat _radiating off the land.

He had never been in a place so hot. The druid camp had been hidden in the forest, cool and sweetly warm; Ismere was so very cold, so cold he almost lost three fingers to frost bite; and Camelot was for the most part lovely - but no place he had ever travelled into during his journeys was as unbearably stifling as this place. It took three days to travel there at their pace. It was a tower, a black pillar of stone so dark it could swallow the sun, the earth, and all the things around it. Mordred felt fear and a slight irritation pierce him as he gazed at the tower, and then Morgana. _Break free, _he thought. _Just do it, _but he was too frightened.

Yes, he acknowledged, that he was strong and powerful - he was a Druid, after all - but he was not as powerful as Morgana. He was too exhausted, too sweaty and dehydrated, the only thought on his mind was to sleep, to go back home to Camelot. But there was no way out of this game.

The tower was empty, which was of little surprise to Mordred. _Anything that tried to survive this wretched place was long dead, _he thought darkly as Morgana dismounted her horse and came to him. He snarled at her, hoping he could at least intimidate her - he was larger, broader and had more skill with a sword. _And, I've been working with Emrys. _

Morgana only threw her head back and laughed, then grabbed the rope close to his wrists. He was good at wordless magic, yes, but the look in her eyes told him that she was better, that she was ready for him to try. So he trailed behind her, wrists red, raw and aching. He was dragged up an impossibly long, winding staircase which spread out to many rooms along many corridors - but they did not stop. Not until they reached the very top, he guessed, did Morgana swing open a door finally and push him into it.

Not even the light from Morgana's torch could illuminate the shadows of the room; he was emerged, completely, in the blackest of darkness. He squinted his eyes, trying to peer into the chamber, but still there was nothing.

"What is this place?" he asked, his voice betraying the fear he felt.

"Sleep well," Morgana sneered, and slammed the door shut.

He was left in darkness. Mordred turned and faced the shadows, wishing he had a sword if only for a piece of mind. He was waiting for a monster to leap out and tear at his gullet, swallow his whole, but the room was still, buzzing with a trepidation that crept over his flesh. He began to tremble - all he could hear was his own footsteps and the rapid pulsing of his heart. "Hello?" he called, hoping that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't the only prisoner.

It was as though his voice had triggered something. A single scream echoed through the room, sharp and piercing, and then with it others followed. The screams grew closer, almost as though the noise was trying to reach out and pull him in. Mordred tried to run to the door, but that was consumed in the black mist of the room, and he could not see it.

Morgana said she wanted to play a game. _This is a cruel game, _he thought as he ducked low to the floor, _a very cruel game. _Wherever the screams sourced from, he was sure it was part of the twisted, wicked game that was made to torture him. All he did was press his fingers to his ears, and wait.

**[][][][][][]**

Arthur needed to distract them all from Mordred, if only for a little while. The entire party of men - who were named the first Knights of the Round Table - had grown close to the young knight, and so their personal admiration and friendship were slowly consuming their very selves. Each function, trivial or otherwise, were being taken over by the mutual sense of protectiveness they felt for Mordred, and it needed to stop. He looked over at Merlynn; she, who had been the most calm of them all, was on the cusp of bursting. Her eyes were flickering gold-blue and her body was almost buzzing with the force of her holding back her magic.

"Men," he cleared his throat. "I... well, we - we need to tell you all something." Arthur was going to do this; the men trusted him, treated his word with respect, and it was his duty as a friend and king to reveal to them important details about the kingdom they were protecting.

"Are you pregnant?" Leon asked, his gaze zeroing on Merlynn's belly.

"No!" she laughed. Then she looked at Arthur, and asked quietly, "What are we telling them?"

He didn't answer her. "If you don't recall, it was only a few days ago that we went and visited the Disir and Mordred was mortally wounded."

"Yes, and he lived," Percival said.

"That was only because the Disir gave me a choice, and I took that chance to save a young, loyal man. The choice they gave me was... accept magic in Camelot, or let Mordred die," he admitted.

Gwaine was smiling, which was of a surprise, and so was Lancelot. Leon, Elyan and Percival, however, were silent and staring.

"Good on you," said Lancelot, patting Merlynn on the shoulder. Only Arthur understood why, but he grinned anyway.

"Mordred was taken by Morgana, who has magic, and all you can say about this is 'good on you'!" Elyan exploded, his fist slamming into the nearest tree.

"Elyan." Merlynn's voice, sometimes, became something that was so powerful that even the wind seemed to pause. Her tone was one of the highest authority, commanding whoever she pleased to bow to her. It wasn't something she even did on purpose sometimes, but it was when Arthur truly saw Emrys simmering just beneath the surface of her being. "Stop this. Magic isn't all evil, you should know."

"How -"

"Elyan," she repeated again, and the knights as a whole ducked their heads. "It is the user of the magic that is evil, not the power itself. Magic is a tool, one that can be used for most magnificent things. People who practice it, usually, try to use it to heal or to create or to do good and then they are persecuted for knowledge!" Merlynn's hands were shaking, and he wished he could reach out and take them to calm her down, but it would do nothing but make it worse. "Ridding the ban on magic will allow so many people a chance of freedom, of peace. The only people that should be taken in for their crimes are those that have done something worthy of it - stealing, molestation, murder, not magic. I understand you're angry about Mordred, I know. We all are. I've fought Morgana for years and my rage is still growing for her, but to judge an entire community as a whole for something that - for some - they cannot control, is just plain stupid."

Elyan said nothing else, only bowed his head and took a seat beside Leon.

"Wow," Leon chuckled, hands scratching through his curls. "You're passionate about this, huh?"

"You have no idea," she grinned and retook her place on the log.

Arthur knew she longed to tell them all, to admit that they were, in fact, in the presence of one of the most powerful beings in the earth, but she seemed to refrain from it. He wasn't sure why, but he took her hand and squeezed it tight and hoped that it was enough. Gwaine was looking at her, though, with an expression he was curious about; it was almost as though he was trying to figure it out, something deep in his mind, and the pieces were slowly coming together one by one. Arthur knew that Gwaine would be one of the first to figure it out, now that he was aware of it himself.

"When are you going to declare this to the kingdom?" Percival asked.

"We were supposed to do it a few days ago," he replied, "but soon after we bring Mordred home, I hope."

"Are you okay with this?" Leon had been his best friend for the longest out of all of them, and so he knew all the trials he had gone through involving magic.

He nodded. "I think it's time." Arthur looked at his wife, and saw that she was smiling, a gleam in her eyes.

It was obvious that some of them - Percival, in particular, what with his family's death - had more to say about his choice, but it was not theirs to have. If they had issues with it, then they had all right to leave; he could not keep them in Camelot, though he hoped they would stay. And so they went to sleep, for the day would come quicker once they settled down. Merlynn tucked her body against his and he curled his arm around her waist, his nose burying in her hair. It was one of the few pleasures his life gave him, to have her held close to him, to be the warmth in the cold nights. Arthur thought of only a few days ago, when he held her like this, but she had been weeping and clawing against him, screaming about immortality and his death. It had scared him to see her like that, someone who was so strong collapse like she had.

He imagined it. Him, old and wrinkled lying in his bed with Merlynn's body, the same as it was now, settled atop him. Arthur wondered if she would stop sleeping with him (intimate, or otherwise) once he grew too old, or if she would be disgusted by his age. She would remain young and beautiful (but she would always be beautiful), her skin soft while he would gradually become ash and bone. _It sounded so cruel, _he thought, _to live forever. _

Arthur felt a sudden need to have her close, and so he tugged her by the waist and tucked his chin on her shoulder, kissing whatever skin he could reach just so she knew he was there. His palm moved beneath her tunic and ran his fingers across the warmth of her belly; he heard her chuckle before a warmth was flung over their bodies. A blanket, he noticed, which she must have pulled on top of them from her satchel, and he smiled against her hair. _Her magic isn't so bad, _he mused as he pulled her body further on top of his and finally fell asleep.

It seemed he had only fallen asleep for a few moments before Leon began to scream. It was a terrible scream, one he never wanted to hear again. Arthur sat up quickly and raced over to his dear friend who was thrashing about near the dim fire. "Leon!" he smacked at his shoulder and roused him from his nightmares.

They were all awake now. The rest of the knights rubbed at their eyes and crawled over to where Leon was awake and panting, clutching at his damp, sweaty hair and rubbing his other hand over his face. Merlynn went to him and, like the maternal figure she was among them, brought the knight into a small hug.

"It's alright," she soothed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"The tower," he gasped. "Everything in it's shadow...was dead. The sound it was like - like children screaming."

Lancelot gaped and added, "The rain that fell was like blood. I had the same dream. I was lost in a forest, the trees had claws, and when I finally escaped it there was a plain. . ."

"Empty as far as the eye can see, except..." they were looking at each other now, eyes wide.

"Beyond the skyline there was a black pillar of stone."

Leon swallowed thickly. "The tower was so dark, it could swallow the sun."

Merlynn could make no sense of them, but it appeared that Arthur knew, for he rocked back on his heels and said, "The Dark Tower. Its a place where every young knight is taught to dread and highly so. Its where many have met their end."

"I've never even heard of such a place," she admitted, brows furrowed.

"With good reason," he replied. "Its said that the mere mention of it can bring doom to those that hear it."

Gwaine grunted. "Well, lets not mention it again. I was having a dream of eating cheese that tasted of apple pie. Anyone else have that dream?" Everyone shook their heads. Merlynn laughed a little. "Well you're all missing out."

It was a curious thought that the both of them had the very same dream, with exact details. He took hold of Merlynn's arm and took her away from the camp to a thick-rooted tree nearby so that he could talk to her in private.

"Why would they both have that dream?" he asked her, as if she had all the answers. She usually did; he hoped she did now.

She was silent for a moment, mouth gaping and closing like some dying fish before she finally said, "The venom from the snakes. It wasn't venom, it was poison. I think Morgana wants us to come to her, so she implanted the hallucinations inside of them."

"You're right. If she wanted them dead, they'd be dead."

"I knew it was a trap," she cursed.

Arthur took hold of her shoulders. Yes, it was a trap and yes, it was more dangerous because Morgana had the upper hand, but it was fabulous because now they knew where to look. "We can find Mordred now. This is an opportunity."

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn knew taking Mordred wasn't about Arthur's plight, or even Gwaine's, but her own. Morgana didn't care for Gwaine; he was part of the leverage, as were the others, just another knight. But she was the enemy that just kept on slipping, who _aided _Arthur's survival - she was, quite possibly, worse than Arthur in Morgana's eyes. She just _knew _this chase was for _her. _Merlynn wished the others hadn't come. They all believed it was some game, some sort of torment; Morgana was smart in that way. She made them believe that it was for them, to lure them with _her _demise as bait. Morgana used the trickery of capture and kidnap and fear to bring them to a designated spot just so she could play with their bodies and minds.

This 'game' was to send Merlynn spiralling out of control, to get her angry and vengeful, to make her weak. It was a power play, she guessed. Morgana wanted to remind her just how powerful she was.

She got the message, and she _would_ retaliate.

In the morning, things were silent among them. They ate, dressed and prepared to leave in the span of a half hour once they woke. Merlynn strapped her belt and slid her weapon into its sheath, thumb rubbing at the golden twist of metal that surrounded the hilt, and watched the others. Lancelot's movements were quick and jerky from his nerves, the nightmares he had last night; Leon was in much the same way, but he had been a knight longer, hidden his feelings more frequently. Arthur didn't bother with hiding because he was visibly on edge, jaw gritting, fists clenching, huffing and buffing like some bull ready to charge straight into battle. Gwaine and Percival were the most calm of all of them, chatting and laughing and being the playful friends they were.

She smiled at them fondly. How they were able to bring happiness into such a dark time always amazed her, and she loved them for it.

"I've decided to journey to the Dark Tower," Arthur declared, stepping forth to the middle of the camp. "It's my belief that Mordred has been imprisoned there. I don't know what horrors will be waiting so I'll travel alone."

"Uh, excuse me?" she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Elyan abruptly said.

"I've made my decision," he shrugged.

Percival raised his chin and said, "he's _our _friend, too."

"And he's basically a maiden in a tower," Gwaine added with his wide grin. "Now with all the stress I was born for this moment."

"Arthur... you were never going alone," Lancelot spoke up, a hint of a smile on his face.

They all looked to Merlynn, then. She was leaning against one of the trees, hand still clinging to the sword at her hip, and she stared right back.

"You can turn back," Leon suggested.

"You're our queen - it'll be much safer back at the kingdom," Elyan added.

Neither Gwaine or Lancelot had input to keep her away from the fight; she was glad for it, because they knew who she was and why she began to laugh at their attempts. "I'm not leaving until Mordred's at m - _our _side again," she announced. "Can't turn back now."

They reached the Impenetrable Forest in the afternoon. Merlynn must have known that it lived up to its name, but she had hope that, perhaps, it would be a much easier journey to get to the tower. It wasn't. They hacked and cut away the branches that twisted and blocked the path; she knew why it was named 'impenetrable' as she stabbed into a root that had grown upwards from the base of a tree and locked with another. Merlynn, as well as the others, continued to get stuck in the vines and thorns, leaving pieces of their clothing behind.

All they could do was go forward.

**[][][][][][]**

Mandrake roots. He heard of them once or twice during one of his reading sessions when he was a boy; _evil plants, _he remembered, things that crept into the mind of the victim and produced the most horrible screeches when uprooted from the ground. Any victim to their power was subjected to misery and torment, a pain only found in the deepest subconscious of their minds. Mordred guessed they were for him. They dripped a black, muddy goo that stained his skin and made his hair sticky and tangled, and hung from the ceiling by the dozens.

Footsteps clicked in the distance, but he didn't know whether they were male or female. Mordred stood from the floor and peered around one of the stone pillars and hoped he was alone - there had been no sign of any life (other than the screams) so a presence in the room was far from pleasing. The footsteps never stopped, though. He ran forward, a sudden bravery making him hope to catch the owner of the phantom footsteps twisting and turning and peering through the darkness. Mordred stumbled back and fell into a body. It wasn't warm, or comforting, but cold and hard and as he turned, he saw his mentor from such a time ago. He was frightfully white, his eyes blank and almost black, but he was smiling.

"Cerd -"

And he laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed, clutching at his belly, his face cracking and twisting until it became a monstrous creature. His jaws separated, gaping until it hit his chest, his teeth falling grotesquely from his gums. It was a black abyss that replaced his mouth as his eyes melted away; he heard bones crack, and then he began to wail as his laughter continued to echo through the walls. Mordred screamed and ran from Cerdan, but he just laughed and screamed some more.

**[][][][][][]**

The forest became thicker, the vines tougher, thorns sharper. There was no telling which way was north, or east, nor south or west, but they kept on moving. Merlynn's feet were hot with exhaustion and bleeding from the odd thorn she stepped on with each misplaced step. Sweat dripped from her face, even when she tied her jacket around her waist and rolled the sleeves of her tunic, and she was unbelievably tired. The others were very much the same, but they must have been worse, she thought. They wore their chainmail and capes, which became hotter with the sun and muggy air - she couldn't imagine the torture they were going through.

"Gah," she gasped as a thorn cut through her tunic, slicing at the flesh of her belly. Merlynn hissed and palmed it quickly, trying to alleviate the small droplets of blood seeping through.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked from ahead of the line, glancing back at her.

"Y - yes. I've had worse," she tried to chuckle, but it was more of a grimace than anything else.

Ahead of her, from where she was near the back, Percival hacked at a thick vine viciously. It was almost as big as his arm, and looked a lot more difficult to cut through. His sword - which he named Thunder - snapped beneath the pressure and broke off as he finally broke through the vine.

"Blunt, anyway," he grunted, but she knew he was mad at losing his sword as he kicked the broken piece. Merlynn handed him hers, which he took with a smile and a squeeze of her shoulder; he was stronger with his arms, and could cut through whatever was in their path better than she could.

"Keep moving," Arthur ordered, stumbling over a root hidden with twigs and leaves.

"We've lost the path," Percival shouted.

"We'll keep heading north."

Gwaine rolled his eyes and stabbed at a vine, cutting it away viciously from his path. "How do we know which way is north?

"The ivy," Arthur said, though she was sure he barely had a clue. "Pale leaves face south; dull leaves face north."

And so they kept moving forward after Arthur. Merlynn, at this point, wasn't sure which way they were even going, but it felt like they were moving north. They were walking forward, never deterring from their path from the first step into the Impenetrable Forest. Nothing told her that they were going in the wrong direction, and so all she could do was hope that they were closer to the tower and not hopelessly lost in the depths of the forest.

Arthur stopped all of a sudden, forcing the others to grip onto low hanging branches and thick vines to keep from tumbling into his back. Ahead of them was a beacon of light; the Dark Tower. It stood past the rolling hills of thick mossy trees, standing tall and almost melting into the sky. _Leon was right_, she thought,_ it was so dark it could swallow the sun. _

"We are on the right course," Leon laughed merrily.

"We should reach the tower by sundown," said Arthur, and began to move again. "Let's pick up the pace."

* * *

**Okay. I hoped you enjoyed this (again, so sorry for the late update - school's a killer!). Woh, tho, a little twist with Mordred being the one who was taken - originally, it had been Gwen, but on the night when I was supposed to publish this I had a thought and then _bam! _it was done. **

**Dhragonis-Slytherin: **ahahahaha, you're welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed it - writing that episode was an emotional rollercoaster, so I'm happy that it all turned out positive c:

**Amour de Pamplemousse: **(that is such a cool penname). Uh, well, I was reading this thing (I think it was an auto-biography) from Ernest Hemingway, and he said that a good protagonist/hero/main character is put through torture, has the things they care about most stolen from them - if I can find the quote again, I'll post it up on here. To your question about Mordred, idek but I'll explain it in later chapters - all will be revealed, as they say. Her punishment is her destiny (which none of you will understand until the end). I'm sorry if I just confused you, but yeah. The Goddess simply deals the future, she does not create; she knows, and she tells the Disir, and they relay.

^ that was so confusing, and I'm sorry. I'll try and rewrite this when it's not a school night.

**Sunflowers in Moscow: **I don't even know how accepting magic changes Camelot's plot, but I'm going to try and weave it in there - I tried to put it in this chapter, and I hope I did that well omg. (also thank you ajskxcjdgbh)

**Scribbler95: **I don't even remember, but it probably was - I was reading it before I began writing, so maybe!

**Ryn of Magic: **It was Gwen. Yes, I know. I kept to the canon, but I'm _trying _to work up something. I - yeah.

**allenleonardo: **no, no, it's fine! And thank you so much for your review, I - it's difficult for me to put into works how much I appreciate criticism and/or _comments, _simple comments, about this, so all I can say is thank you!

**Please, if you enjoyed this/had any thoughts/want to shout at me for taking a fucking _month _to upload, then review (or PM me)~**

**Love you all, **

**Khaleesi. **


	11. The Dark Tower: Torment

**Wow, look guys! A quicker update - are y'all proud of me? I certainly am! Ugh, sorry though, anyway - there was a lot of shit going on about school and stuff, and I almost had a drop-out scare, and my IP's are going into more work and stuff and mum wants to give me a job and edivljgbflcnh maDNESS. But here is your new chapter. **

**Ugh, Mordred and his torment was very difficult to write, because with Gwen I had an amazing scene with Galahad and Lancelot, but oh well. I really hope it was in character? And I hope I did this justice because it was really difficult to write, but whatever. **

**It's holidays now, so I should be able to write - though I'm going to be terribly busy and out-and-about, so I doubt that. **

**CHAPTER 11 - THE DARK TOWER**

**"**_Boy with a broken soul  
Heart with a gaping hole  
Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality  
Kissing death and losing my breath" _

_- '_Bones' by MS MR

* * *

By the second night Mordred wondered how long it would take for Morgana to release him. Surely, he thought, a week would be too long, too difficult, and she would lose hope in her plans to send him mad (or whatever her plan was). Not once did she come to him, though, but he heard her footsteps if he pressed his ear to the floor, slow and steady and not once did she hesitate. _Resilient. _

No more shadows had come to greet him, either. Cerdan's appearance was enough to bring him close to tears; his magic had reacted too, and he broke pillars, stone, whatever was in the way of his wrath. But the room did not break - in fact, when he woke the next morning, it was repaired as if he barely touched it. Mordred grit his teeth and tried not to scream, for if he did he was giving in, he was succumbing to Morgana's wretched ideas.

"Mordred," he heard, a sweet whisper. _No. _It was Emrys, bent in a crouch, knuckles brushing against the ground, giggling like a child. Her smile was brilliant, wide and lovely, unabashed playful admiration etched in her face. This was worse than Cerdan, he thought, as he took a breath. He shut his eyes and hoped she would leave him be; if he wasn't looking, then she wasn't there. At least that was what he hoped so dearly.

Mordred felt a weight settle across his lap and lips brush his cheek. "Mordred," she breathed, fingers running up his side, splaying over his chest. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

"_No," _he bit out, a desperation clutching at his voice.

"Please." Warm, wet lips pressed over his, forcing a weak moan from his throat. With abandon, his eyes snapped open, and he pulled her closer, mouth sliding across hers, fingers lacing in her hair. She was a ghoul, he acknowledged, but here in his madness he had her. Mordred could allow himself one moment of weakness to fulfil a dream he had since he was a boy. Her body, a phantom of itself, pressed to his, warm and soft, compliant beneath his travelling fingers. With his eyes closed, he could pretend that they were in his bedchamber, buried beneath the sheets, naked and unafraid - there was no Arthur, no war, no Morgana. There was just him, and her, and magic and love.

Her mouth moved to his neck and he caught a whiff of her hair; he froze. It wasn't right. Emrys' hair smelt of some sort of flower, strong and heady, and her skin - when he was able to be close enough to smell her - smelt of her magic, which was a scent that he was unable to name. This was the bitter-sweet scent of the mandrake root radiating from the ghoul-Emrys' flesh - it wasn't her, wasn't right.

"No," he protested, shoving and pushing at her shoulders until she was flung from his lap.

Emrys landed on her back, but she laughed. "But Mordred," she sang, "I'm here to save you."

"Emrys," his voice was almost a sob.

She sat up and said what sounded like his name, but it reminded him of someone trying to speak through water, and as he closed his eyes he heard a loud, slow drop, as though he was right near one of the drowning mandrake roots. Mordred heard his name again, and he had to look. Perhaps it was a morbid curiousity, or perhaps there was a part of him that hoped that when he did open his eyes, Gwaine or even his Emrys would be shaking at his shoulders with smiles on their faces as they tried to wake him. He almost screamed at the sight before him.

The Emrys that was trapped in the room with him was twisted and a vile shadow of her true self, a monster. Her mouth was dripping black goo, splashing crudely against the stone between her hands. She was in the same crouched position again, eyes black as the shadows around them, mouth swung open wide as though her jaw wasn't a part of her skull. Mordred did not know why his mind created such a creature, but he scrambled away and ran from her - _it - _even as it roared like a rabid beast.

But then, like some angel, Morgana opened the door and as light cast in the room all the shadows disappeared. He stood there, trembling, as she came to him and wiped at tears he wasn't aware of.

"Come," she whispered. "Let's have something to eat."

Morgana was very kind, very generous, very _sweet. _It was the most cruel trick of them all. Mordred was positively parched - and starving - and all he wanted to do was return home to Camelot, or even his old Druid camp. Anything was better than _this. _Food scattered across the table that wasn't covered in sticky webs, from fruit to cheese to bread and some sort of meat; he wondered how she was able to collect all of it, considering where they were.

"Eat," Morgana said, sweetly but firmly. "Here." She was handed a plate. "Food always makes me feel better. Would you prefer some chicken." Mordred did not speak. "You must eat. You are fading away."

He began to eat, though he glared at her slight smug grin. "I will not be broken by you, Morgana," he spat.

"I thought this would be nice," she laughed a little, but then her expression changed. Mordred saw a darkness shape her face, not wicked, but pained. "I know how lonely you must be. All by yourself in that room. At least your not shackled, there's daylight, you can move, you can see."

"You expect me to be grateful?" he scoffed.

Morgana grit her teeth. "I too have suffered, Mordred. I spent two years living in darkness. I spent two years chained to a wall in the bottom of a pit," she admitted. "You did not know?"

_I do not care, _he realised, a little startled at the thought. Once, he would weep with her, say nothing but express everything in touches and expressions - but here, in the icy cool of the chamber in the middle of a wretched tower, he did not care for it. It sounded terrible, yes, he acknowledged, the thought of being kept in a pit for two years sounded horrendous, but she had done so much - to him, to his friends, the people who cared for him - and he could not forgive that.

"How could I?" he retorted, lips curled in a snarl.

Her face hardened like stone. "I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this," she hissed. "Do you want me to take you back up there?"

**[][][][][][]**

The horses were forgotten at the border of the Impenetrable Forest, and so they were to walk the entire length of the forest without them. The muggy air of the forest was trapped by the thick vines and twisted branches, blocking any escape from above. Merlynn could feel sweat collecting at the small of her back and she doubted she smelled very good, but neither did the rest of them, so she felt a little less uncomfortable as she moved with the clammy bodies of her companions.

She swore that they were going in circles, though none seemed to acknowledge her. Scraps of clothing - _their clothing - _greeted them at odd intervals, attached to trees and low hung branches. As time passed, she noticed that the party of men who, at first, stood tall and confident and slashed at nature with ease, were slow and sagged - they begun to see, too.

"We should have made it out of the forest by now," Leon complained.

Arthur sent him a look and Merlynn knew he was just as frustrated - if not more so - than the rest of them, at a point of frustration that would send him rabid as a dog at the slightest jab. He said nothing, though, gritting his teeth and turning. Then, he cocked his head, nostrils flaring, and he stormed toward a branch to snatch something that was tangled in the dead leaves. "_Look," _the words were spat from his mouth as he tossed it at her.

Merlynn caught it with sweaty fingers and felt the material beneath her touch; it was hers, she deduced, from colour and feel. She looked down at the bare flesh of her hip that greeted her, then glanced back to Arthur with a grimace. "We're going in circles," she remarked, not bothering to apologise. There was nothing to apologise for - yes, it was her idea to go after Mordred, but they would have gone with or without her suggestion.

"We have _wasted _an _entire day!" _he was fierce and angry, embedding his sword deep into the earth and sinking to his knees. Merlynn tried to reach for him, but he only brushed her off and buried his head in his hands. The fall of the king affected the others - they were all defeated, exhausted from the day's trip through the forest, and to see Arthur surrender made them all settle down, sighing and glancing at each other with frustration.

"Let's... make camp for the night," Leon suggested. "Get some rest and pick up fresh in the morning."

They supped and then slept. Merlynn was had never been a heavy sleeper, not since Camelot. There was no watcher, though it was a silent agreement in them all that if there was trouble, she would alert them all. Even as she tried to consume herself in slumber, she was aware of her surroundings, each rustle and chirp and snap. There was a part of her that thought that her body had moulded itself to the role as protector once Kilgharrah made her aware of it. Arthur did not bother to hold her close that evening and she was, admittedly, most glad for it. The stress of the walk, and the endless search for the Dark Tower only made her restless, and angry.

Mordred was so young, so vulnerable and sweet and good-hearted; he thought far too much of her, hoped too much, fought relentlessly for a simple _conversation _with her. They practised magic together, and became close through their bond of it - he had become, in a short time, one of her closest friends. There was a deep anger, simmering in her like a boiling pot. _If Morgana has hurt him, _she thought, _then Morgana will die. _

"_Emrys." _There was a time where she would deny it - that name - but now, as she sat up and looked toward the leaves, she dared not to. Emrys was who she was, who she was _born _to be; to deny it would be silly of her.

Merlynn swiftly stood and went over to the voice, unafraid. The voice was unfamiliar and she was unable to see the person yet, but it was a woman. Her true-name was called again, a voice large but it came from below. A fae creature sat atop a wide leaf, crouched with her fingertips dragging across the brim, beautiful in a distorted way. Bald on one side of her head and a wild thatch of hair on the other, bright eyes and a sharp-toothed smile. Her skin was tinged with green and there were tattoos that looked like Druid runes scattered across her face and arms. She was strange and terrible in her beauty.

"Welcome to my realm, Emrys," she purred.

"Who are you?"

Her pale lips twitched in a smirk. She was a small thing, possibly only the size of her index finger, though she was powerful. Magic crackled around her like firelight, licking at Merlynn's flesh in both warning and invitation. The fae creature was powerful, and she wanted everyone to know it. "I'm Queen Mab. I'm the spirit of this place, and all the other places that bring despair to men's hearts." She stood on dainty feet and bowed with a flourish of her arm and a dip of the waist. "Few have ever seen me, Emrys - you should count yourself fortunate."

"That's why I'm curious," she said in return, her teeth buried in her lower lip. "Why would you see _me _of all people?"

"Because you're Emrys. You're the only one in that group of idiots that has any sense," Queen Mab laughed, a tinkling, mischievous thing.

"Oh." Merlynn sunk to the forest floor so she was eye level with her. "This forest...it's so overwhelming. Everything is stressful - we keep going in circles, and back and forth, and I'm trying to comfort everybody but it's so - ugh!" she could barely even finish the sentence.

"This forest is just one step of the journey."

"How do we get out?" she asked.

"Oh, little one," she replied in an almost soothing, maternal tone, and she smiled sweetly, "you should not have to ask. Left is right and right is left; and the way behind is the way ahead. It's simple."

Merlynn let out a small scoff of disbelief. "Oh, yes. _Simple," _she bit out.

"You have a mind's eye, Emrys. You must learn how to trust it. But far greater challenges lie ahead."

"You mean... when we reach the Dark Tower?" she asked.

"_If..." _She was getting frustrated now; Kilgharrah as a vague and mysterious helper was enough, she didn't need two of them. Queen Mab must have noticed, for she sighed a little and sat down upon the leaf. The leaf did not falter or tilt, but remained the same as if she were barely even touching it. "You must beware, Emrys. The tower is not a real place. It is the heart's rest. The mind's deepest fear. The stillness in a humming bird's eyes..."

"_Stop talking in riddles," _she growled out. She did not care that she was the queen of the faeries, or whatever she claimed to be, she was mad and she was protective and _god_s _help her_ if she wasn't ready to wring her neck.

"Then I shall speak in rhyme," Queen Mab retorted coolly. "Heed my words which you concern, for one of you will not return."

"Who?" Not Arthur, no. She wouldn't allow that - Lancelot and Gwen could not die, neither could any of the knights. A small part of her hoped that it was Morgana who would not return, for then her troubles would be over. But Queen Mab would not have told her if it was not someone she cared about; it was one of the knights, but which one?

Queen Mab laughed, and she was gone.

**[][][][][][]**

Queen Mab was an evil beast. She cursed her very name, cursed her power and her knowledge and all she ever was. Merlynn wished to see the faerie queen again so that she may twist her small body and tear it in twine. Then, perhaps, she could find her peace from the retched paranoia Queen Mab thrust upon her. The rhyme was a curse to her very being - '_one of you will not return', _she was told, but which? Though it was vague to whether the person would survive it or not, it was common knowledge that to 'not return' meant to die.

Each knight had a special place in her heart. The mere thought of losing any one of them made her stomach curdle and her head ache, even those she was not as close to. She was sure it was one of the knights who would not return. And so she watched them vigilantly, twittering around like a lost bird to make sure they did not even so much as _stumble _so there was no chance of them being in harm.

"We need to find the clearing where we saw the Dollares Plains," Arthur said, and he looked at _her._ "Merlynn?"

She nodded and stepped ahead of them all. He was finally trusting her - her _magic - _to help them. The others were confused (save Lancelot), and looked between them both with furrowed brows and slacked mouths. Merlynn ignored them all; she needed to be focused, to be 'aware of her mind's eye' as Queen Mab had told her. The forest came to life around her. None noticed but her. The trees whispered, the wind wisped around them, brushing past her body ahead to her right - _North, _they told her.

"This way," she declared.

"How on earth...?" Gwaine asked, gaping up at her.

Merlynn shrugged. "Sense of smell. When the wind is from the north you can smell the sea," it was a half-lie, for it was true, but it was not how she found it. She wasn't ready to tell them yet, and she wondered if she ever would.

"Let's get on then."

She used her magic to guide them through twisted vines and broken trees. It was though her vision had expanded, and she could see miles ahead of them all with a smile trick of her power; it was brilliant. Merlynn hated Queen Mab for telling her the future, but she loved her for the gift of the 'mind's eye' she had been keeping buried beneath her. They passed Percival's broken sword, and they clapped her on the back and praised her for her intelligence. Soon, they could see the Dark Tower ahead, standing tall beyond the tree line like a shadow, and they were running with Merlynn in the lead.

The trees around them were rotten and, in a most unnatural way, seemed to be leaning away from the Dark Tower as though nature itself was terrified of the place. A horrible emotion curled in her stomach, and she wished she could turn away. The land ahead of them was dry and empty of all things but the tower; nothing was alive, except for ravens, which circled above them like vultures, waiting for the weak to fall away and die. Merlynn clutched at Arthur's hand, if only for a moment, and she was pleased to have his gloved, broad hands, warm from the muggy forest, squeezing hers back.

"How far do you think it is?" Elyan asked. It looked to be only a few minutes walk, she wanted to say, as she stared across the empty plains, but as she walked out into the arid heat, the path stretched on and on and it was as though it was _taunting _them.

Gwaine grimaced, "At least we can see where we're going."

"Then let's not stand here looking at it," Arthur interrupted, his voice strong and confident, though he gulped a little and tugged at her hand a little tighter.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred had been _haunted _by the conjurations of the mandrake roots over the course of the evening. Seeing Emrys and Cerdan, their faces rotting, fingers mangled and dying were more than enough for her mind to handle. He was not sure he could take another ghoul, for he was going mad enough with Morgana nearby. His thoughts - the ones that were not overcome with the agony of the ghouls - said to hate her, and he did. Mordred hated her for what she had done to Camelot, to the land, to the knights and to Emrys, but he was also reminded of _before. Before, _when she was sleek and lovely and wonderfully kind-hearted, and he considered her a friend.

His conversation with Morgana about her imprisonment made him feel the tiniest bit remorseful for her because being caged was never nice - even the thought sounded too horrible for reality. She was sadder than before, than what the knights have spoken of her (though they were never kind about her, and had good reason to be angry), though he remembered speaking to Emrys about her.

_"Her magic... it's still in me, Mordred," she had admitted. They were in the forest again, sitting against a log side-by-side, hands brushing. He had been tempted to thread their fingers together, but she would reject him for sure. _

_Mordred liked to think that she had only told him this - their little secret. "So... you're connected? Like we are?" She hadn't denied that last question, nodded in fact, and it made him beam in such a way that his cheeks began to hurt. _

_"Yes. It's why I get so angry sometimes. Her magic is poisoned and when I consumed it, some of it lingered, attached itself to mine. I'm scared that it'll poison me too," her bottom lip had trembled, and he reached out and wrapped his arm around her. Her hair always smelt to sweet and he had buried his nose in her hair while comforting her, fingers brushing against the top of her arm. _

_"You're stronger than her, Emrys. You're too good." _

_"Arthur hates her, but he's also sad about the whole thing. He wants me to think that he wants her dead, and I'm sure there's a part of him that does, but I don't think he's going to be strong enough to do it." _

_Mordred had looked at her, saw the resolute expression on her face, and he had known she made the decision for herself to be Morgana's killer. "Could you do it?" _

_"Kill her?" with a pause, she had looked at him, and he thought she wasn't going to answer him, but then she had said, "I don't know. Every time I'm about to, I think of... her. Morgana, _then. _Not now, when she's hell-bent on killing me and Arthur, taking over Camelot - no, but then, when she loved me and Gwen and Arthur. She and I... we were supposed to be great together. We were going to be like you and I are now, sharing magic and practising together. I'd like to think that she would've supported Arthur and my marriage. But no. Because of me, she hates us." _

_"It couldn't have been your fault -"_

_"But it was," it was said with such finality that he could not believe otherwise. "Morgause -" her eyes flashed gold "- she came, and she planted thoughts in Morgana's head. And when I had to poison Morgana to save Camelot -" Emrys paused, and he saw the fallen log nearby crack in half with her clenching fist as though she had it in her hand. _

_"Go on." _

_"I should've explained it. I should've... I should've told her everything, about me, about her, about what I had to do. Because of that, she fell into Morgause and became _that_. It's my fault. So whenever I go to kill her, I think of why she's like that - because of me and what I did. I tried to comfort her, to befriend her and gain her forgiveness, but she was too far gone by then." _

_"You couldn't do anything about that." He didn't like seeing her so upset, so ready to cry. "It wasn't your fault. Morgause's twisted games did that, not you." _

_"If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't have the chance to go to Morgause. I miss her sometimes, Mordred," she had leaned her head on his shoulder then, and he almost danced from his giddiness. _

_"So do I, but she's not going to be the old Morgana again. She's too dark now - a part of me thinks killing her is a mercy." _

She hadn't replied, though Mordred knew she agreed with him on that. Morgana was insane with her desire to become queen and to kill Arthur; Gwaine once put it as, "putting down a dumb horse."

Giggling came suddenly again from some dark corner in the room, and he knew who it was. The laughter was familiar, as he had heard it many times, and it had become one of his most favourite sounds. But, what was once calming and innocent and adorable, was twisted, haunting, echoing through the room like a blade dragging against stone. Footsteps followed the noise, coming closer to where he was standing. Mordred wanted to close his eyes, but he thought _no,__ I must be strong, I must stand up to this. _So he waited and watched for Emrys to return to him. She would become rotten, the black goo from the plants above her would drip from one of her orifices, and she would wail and laugh as she became mangled before him.

And when she crawled out from behind the pillar like a child, her blue eyes wide, he wanted to usher her close and hold her. She looked like Emrys. He had been fooled by it once - _almost - _and it was very easy for it to happen again. So when she came into his arms again, tears wet on her messy locks, she smelt of rotting fruit, mandrakes and a most pungent scent of ashes. Mordred heard her giggles darken, slim fingers dig into his arms, and then he was pushed away while she screamed and scattered away.

"Emrys -!" he cried.

She wasn't as white as before, so she was almost real. So he reached for her, but she raced away with playful intent. When his fingers barely brushed against her tunic, she glanced to the side and smiled _that very smile _that he wished she would give him. Turning, Mordred saw Arthur, a grin on his face as he waved at them. "Come, Merlynn," said Arthur. _  
_

_No, it's Emrys, _he wanted to shout. Emrys looked at him, and for a moment he thought - _hoped - _that the ghoul would come to him instead, because they were one and the same, but she ran to Arthur. She leaped into his arms and pressed her mouth to his fiercely, fingers tugging at his golden hair. Their kissing was crude, violent almost, made to torment him - and it did. He watched them, his magic rumbling inside of him as it waited to lash out at the two of them, or on whatever he could. Watching them together like this made him tremble, even though it was not real.

"Why?" he sobbed, glancing up to the mandrake roots, to the heavens, to anyone who would listen.

"_Mor - dred," _Arthur sung, voice echoing and sinister. Mordred never heard him sound like that before; it was almost _demonic _with the way he said it. His body tensed with emotion, positively terrified to look at the ghoul pair again, but when he did he choked on a scream. Emrys was flailing in Arthur's arms, eyes wide and leaking with tears, fingers clawing desperately at the arm which wrapped around her throat. She was choking, _dying _and Arthur was the killer. He was grinning at Mordred, too, as if waiting for him to attack.

"Mo - Mordred! _Please hel -!" _she wailed, then cut off with a strangled noise as Arthur tightened his grip.

"No," he choked out and squeezed his eyes shut. "You're not real. You're _not real. __No." _This was what Morgana wanted. He would not give in; he was strong, he was powerful. His mind could not conquer him.

Mordred heard Arthur snicker. "Are you sure? What if this is the real Merlynn, huh? You're letting her _die." _

In that moment when he opened his eyes, hoping that his thoughts were strong enough to wish away the ghouls, Mordred let out a cry. His king - a man who he considered a friend, who he looked up to most fondly - pressed his hand over Emrys' mouth, pressed into her jaw, and snapped her neck. Her body abruptly stopped flailing and fell, her dark hair draped over her face. He went wild as he ran to her, falling to his knees beside her, sobbing over the sounds of Arthur's hysterical laughter. Mordred cradled her head in his lap, though he could barely see her through his blurred vision, and kissed her face, each more desperate then the last.

_She's a ghoul, _he tried to remind himself as he screamed, trembling fingers brushing her hair. All he saw, though, was Emrys - Merlynn - whoever she was, limp in his arms. Someone touched his shoulder, but Mordred smacked the person away and held her body closer as if the beast behind her was going to steal Emrys away. "_No, you can't take her!" _he roared.

It was only Morgana, her mad eyes - now as sweet as they once were - wide, her touch soft and caressing. She touched his shoulder again, though with hesitance and kindness. "Mordred, there's no one there," she pointed out in concern. Mordred barely even noticed the wicked smirk, slight as it was, as he was too busy staring at his lap where Emrys once was, and the spot where Arthur killed her. It was empty space.

"Oh."

"Would you like to dine with me?" she asked softly. Mordred only stared down at his lap. "Come. You must eat or you'll fade away."

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed. It was because of Morgana that he was going mad, that he was watching the ghouls torment his mind and his soul. He wanted to leave the room, to go and eat with Morgana and keep away from the horrid, damp place, but he was stubborn and needed to be strong.

Morgana frowned. "Because we're friends," she said as if it was the most natural response in the world. "We always were."

"Leave me _alone." _

"I am helping you. I'm looking _after _you," she uttered, grasping his hand.

Mordred shook his head, pulled himself from her and crawled to the pillar closest to him. "I want nothing from you," he spat. All he wanted to do was to go home, but that was but a dream, a hope in his mind that would never be fulfilled.

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know." Morgana looked at his in a way that looked almost pitying, but said nothing else. She only stood, wiped at her lace skirts and left the room.

He was left alone in the darkness once again.

**[][][][][][]**

The walk was longer than any of them could have imagined. Merlynn was sure hours had gone by, but the sun barely even moved; in fact, it seemed to be burning brighter the closer they came to the Dark Tower. The knights did not shed their cloaks, for it was by their honour that they kept their Camelot sigil, the colour bright against the clay-like, sandy path. It was a desert she had only seen in pictures, devoid of all moisture and hope.

"We cannot afford to rest," said Arthur, whenever they paused to check a blister, or paused to stretch or fix their clothes.

Merlynn was ready to collapse. She was used to walking, running, _moving _but it was in a forest environment where moisture thrived, and it was comfortable and familiar. The desert was new, frightening and so dry; she could taste blood in her mouth when she swallowed, and her skin was heated and bright red from the sun. Blisters grew, popped and bled on her feet, and she wanted to cry each time they rubbed against the leather of her shoes.

The path wasn't as straight as she once thought. Along the way there were ditches where previous knights had come to discover the Dark Tower and fallen, their swords like spikes protruding from the sand. As they walked beside one of the many ditches, Merlynn slipped and skid down the small hill. She barely even acknowledged it at first as it happened so fast, but she heard the others shout in alarm. Her head collided with a rib and she felt the burning steel of a sword press into the side of her arm, but she wasn't impaled on anything like she thought.

"Merlynn, are you alright?" she heard Percival call.

Merlynn twisted her body around and nodded at them all, a shaky smile on her face. Arthur, his golden face scrunched with fear, watched as Percival helped her up. Before she could even go to him, he was wrapping his arms around her, pressing his mouth to hers feverishly, his hands settled on the bones of her hips. As he pulled away, he kissed her forehead and she was overcome with emotion, a fluttering, content feeling that allowed her to smile.

"Stop being clumsy," he hissed into her skin.

"Sorry," she mumbled back.

"We must keep moving," Lancelot shouted at them, now ten paces ahead.

Arthur held her around the waist as they began to walk and made her keep to his left so there was no possibility for her to fall. He seemed to forget that she was immortal, but she did not remind him; she let him have this moment to protect her because he enjoyed it, and because she had no strength to fight him. It was also because she liked his arm around her, even though it was too hot to be so close, and there was a sense of normalcy about the act that was comforting. Merlynn curled into his shoulder as they walked on, and he kissed at her temple.

Not once did they look back.

**[][][][][][]**

The screams came back when Morgana left. It was as though with her rejection came the horrid power of the mandrake roots, which wailed and screamed in the dark, everywhere and anywhere in the room until he could barely hold back his own. His mouth stained red from where he bit at it but he did not wipe it away, nor did he even register the metallic taste of it.

"Don't look, you'll be alright. . . don't look, you'll be alright. . .d-don't lo-ok. . .don't look, you'll be alright." Mordred always prided himself on being strong, having handled the slave traders and all the madness his life brought, but in the chamber dripping with mandrake roots where all that was left was the deepest recesses of his mind, he was a boy again. To tell himself it was going to be fine was all he could say, for if he didn't he would go even madder. The worst thing was that the screams were sometimes not even in the room, so he could pinpoint and avoid it all, but rather in his head. There was no escape from it, no chance to keep away and be lost in his thoughts. No, he was trapped.

"_Mordred." _He was starting to hate his own name.

"No," he said, and he heard chuckles. There were at least three of them, and they all called her name. It was the knights he had become closest to - Gwaine, Percival and Elyan - standing side-by-side in an imposing way, glaring down at him with unkind eyes. "I know it's not you. I know its not you. I know its not you. I know its not you."

"Mordred. Come on, lad," Gwaine laughed. He was the one he bonded with the most, who slung his arm around his shoulder and ruffled his hair; he didn't even know _how _they had become so close, but they spent a lot of their time drinking and laughing together. Mordred grit his teeth and tried not to look at them. "Look at me."

"I know it's not you," he bit out firmly.

"Please?" he teased.

"I know its not you."

"It's us," Percival said, burly hand settling on his shoulder.

"I know it's not you."

Elyan sighed, "We're here to save you, Mordred. You're safe now."

It was all he wanted; his mind, in this wretched game of Morgana's, was giving him hope and would snatch it away. He knew it would happen once again if he gave into the ghouls of his friends. Whatever those ghouls did to torment him, it would never bring him as much agony as Emrys' death did. Even the mere thought of it made tears spring to his eyes, and he scurried back away from the three ghouls - it was all too much. He could barely breathe, they were suffocating. It was all so suffocating.

But, Gwaine's hand clasped to his arm and he was pulled to his feet without consent. One by one, they all embraced him, laughing and brushing his hair, and for a moment he felt like they would not hurt him. When he reached Percival, the burly knight nudged his chin with a knuckle and made him look up. _No, _he thought, as a cruel grin rose on his ashen face. _Not again. _As he began to laugh, that haunting, wicked laugh, the others followed suit, and Mordred stumbled away from them. Gwaine bent over, cackling almost painfully, thick black tears streaming down his cheeks.

He groaned, cupped his ears and shut his eyes. Soon they would leave, he hoped, but he heard them and _felt _their presence surrounding him, isolating him. Mordred tightened his lips, tried not to scream. When the laughing subsided, cool, thin fingers touched his shoulders and he was pressed to a bony, cold body, sweet things whispered in his ear. Morgana's touch was so _soothing _in comparison to the torment of the mandrake roots, and he clutched onto the torn lace at her arms with trembling abandon.

He was just a boy, barely a man - he was so very frightened, so very alone. "I'm here," she whispered, pressing chapped kisses to his wet cheeks. "Mordred, I was so wrong to make you suffer. I'm sure you're well aware that the mandrake root is cruel. It pierces the depths of your very soul. Pushes you to the very near consciousness of what you fear and dread. You have been _so _courageous, but it was necessary. You're not alone now. You need never be alone again. I _am _the only one you can trust, the only one you have left in the world. You and I, we're one and the _same. _The others - they don't understand you, they _hate you... _Come."

Mordred let himself be lifted to his shaky legs and be taken from the room; the prospect of warmth, of food and laughter, sounded like a gift from the gods. He didn't want to be locked away in the darkness of the chamber for another _moment. _But then he saw Morgana's face as she pulled him by the hand, a mad smile twitching at her lips, and he could not follow.

"No!" a shout tore from his throat as he snatched his hand away. "Whatever twisted game you are playing, I want no part in it. I would rather stay here and die." Mordred wanted to be back at Camelot in his bed, surrounded by those who cared for him and he wasn't sure he could handle another visit from a ghoul. But, he reasoned, to be tormented by his mind was a far better thing than being poisoned by Morgana's darkness.

Morgana only shook her head, as if she pitied him, and left.

**[][][][][][]**

It was far too simple, she reasoned. Mordred was being used by Morgana as bait, poisoned Lancelot and Leon to see visions that lead them to the Dark Tower, and there was no danger. Merlynn remembered other adventures - whether with the knights, or Arthur, even on her own - and each ended with danger, with close-calls, sneaking, traps and bloodshed. As they entered the Dark Tower, it was empty. No noise, not even from a rat or the ravens outside; it was as though all the life that was present outside was forbidden from entering.

Morgana had her men - a loyal band of Saxons who chased after her heels like dogs - and so she was surprised when she didn't see them. Merlynn half expected them to leap out from the shadows and attack them. That was far better than this. The simplicity of their intrusion was far too suspicious and so, as they began to wander up the first staircase they saw, she made her theories known.

"It must be a trap, Arthur," she whispered, squeezing past a struggling Percival (who was far too large for the small passageway). "It's too easy."

Arthur would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so concentrated on his footing. "Are you _ever _happy?"

There was a scream at the top of the stairs. Elyan, in a matter of seconds, pushed through the rest of the group and raced up the rest of the steps into the next section of the tower. _One of you will not return, _Queen Mab had said and an angry, dull ache clutched at her chest before she chased after him. The others followed suit, twisting through hallways that seemed far too large for the cylinder shape of tower and finally through the next open door she saw. Elyan stood in the middle of a large, high-arched chamber, gargoyles littered across the walls.

He spun around and shouted, "Stop!"

But still, they all stumbled forward. Merlynn felt the step beneath her foot press down with her weight and a churning sound echo throughout the room. She barely felt the pull at her shirt before an arrow whizzed toward her face. Narrowly avoiding it, she found herself watching as other arrows shot from the jagged mouths of the gargoyles at them. Percival was hit in the leg, Leon in the arm and, if she hadn't used her magic, Arthur would have been caught in the heart.

"Nobody move," Arthur panted, his hand still clenched on the back of her tunic. "Stay _exactly _where you are."

"What triggered it?" Leon asked with a grunt. The arrow had been torn from his arm, and now the wound was bleeding rather heavily; Merlynn had the urge to fix it, but she doubted they had time to.

"The flag stones," he motioned to the floor, "they must react to pressure."

Elyan offered to go first and tossed his sword at the flag stone in front of him to trigger it. Once the arrow fired, he moved across and ushered the rest to do the same. Merlynn watched with a horrible ache in her belly as she watched him avoid the arrows rather narrowly and she had a horrible feeling that whatever was beyond the chamber was going to decide Queen Mab's riddle.

"I'll go first," she declared, and gave no room for argument as she threw her own sword at a stone. No arrow fired. _They must have only triggered some of them, _she realised, and with a smile she continued.

"I'll push on," said Elyan as he neared the door.

"No, Elyan," Arthur denied.

"None of us would have been here if it wasn't for me," he retorted. He was at the doorway, unharmed; she was much too far away to stop him, but she hurried and tried to reach him before he ran. "I have to do this."

Merlynn shouted for him to wait, but he only shook his head and disappeared from the doorway. "Now I see how you always feel," she said to her husband in an attempt to calm her worries. Gwaine was always so good at it, so why couldn't she? Arthur only gave her a look, unamused, before he threw his sword and moved to the next stone.

The time it took to span across from one side of the room to the other only took a few minutes, but to her it seemed like an eon had passed when she didn't know where Elyan was. Merlynn was the first, though, out of the group to reach the door, and once her feet hit non-pressurized stone she was racing up the stairs into the next room. She heard the others call for her, but she didn't care to reply; it was Elyan she was more concerned about. Once she pushed open the door, she was calling for them - Elyan, Mordred, _Morgana - "_No."

Her breath cut short at the base of her throat, and she felt her hands cup her mouth. _One of you will not return. _"Elyan," she whispered, almost a whimper. Mordred was weeping openly over the dead body of his comrade, his hands stained with blood that was sourced from Elyan's chest. When he heard her, Mordred's head shot up, face wet and flushed, and he sobbed out her name.

"This isn't a dream, i - is it?" he hiccuped as she went to her knees beside him.

"No, it's real," she said, biting at her lip.

"_No." _Mordred buried his face in his hands, streaking red across his skin, though he didn't seem to care. "H - he tried to sa - ve me but he couldn't, he _couldn't. _Morgana - sh - she enchanted a sword to protect me and I couldn't un-chant it."

_Gwen's going to be so upset, _she thought as she closed Elyan's lifeless eyes. "He died protecting you," she comforted, and reached over to touch Mordred. "You're safe now."

He looked at her with wide, unseeing eyes, and he tried to scramble away. "N - no! You're not real, you're _not real!" _he screamed. She watched him, unable to do anything - _for what could she do? _Merlynn did not know what torture Morgana subjected him to, but it obviously involved _her_, and she must have done something horrible to him to make him react like he was.

"Oh, Mordred," she said sadly.

Mordred let out a wail and curled into himself, hands gripping desperately onto his trembling knees. He was _terrified _of her, of whatever she had been while he was in Morgana's torment. "_Please," _he sobbed. "Don't_ hurt _me."

"Never, Mordred. It's actually me - I wouldn't lie to you. I'm real, I'm here." Hesitantly, she crawled over to him, slow and steadily, like she was moving toward a dangerous beast hoping that she wouldn't trigger it to attack, and she wrapped her arms around him. He was tense in her arms, his hands moving to her shoulders as if to push her away. Merlynn kissed his temple, then his cheek, a metallic taste lingering on her lips from Elyan's blood. "You're really safe. I don't know what Morgana did to you, but I'm real, Mordred."

At her words, he slumped in her arms, clutching at her tunic. His head moved to her neck where he began to weep, words spilling from his mouth that were barely coherent, but they saddened her anyway. Merlynn just whispered and kissed his inky hair, hoping that he believed her, that he would soon stop his tears; he was safe now. But Elyan was dead - they had lost a friend, a member of the Knights of the Round Table, Gwen's brother.

And when the others raced in, swords drawn, she did not turn to them for she had no reason to explain. They saw Elyan's body, dripping with blood, then she and Mordred near the back of the room. That's all they needed to know.

"You're safe now," she whispered again. "You're safe."

**[][][][][][]**

The ride back was terribly silent. Arthur ordered for them to cart Elyan's body back to Camelot, and so they carried him through the Impenetrable Forest and set him on his horse. The chestnut stallion seemed to be affected by his master's death, for he neighed and bucked when they first entered the clearing, and walked as slow as he could to ensure that Elyan's body did not fall. Mordred was quiet, too - the blood was washed from his body from their waterskins, and he was given plenty of food to build his strength up again, but he had changed.

Whatever happened to him while he was at the Dark Tower affected him, perhaps for the rest of his life. Merlynn had no clue how to comfort him, how to soothe his worries and his pain - she wasn't trained for such a thing, in fact, she wasn't trained for much. She was trained to mend physical wounds, cuts and poisons and sickness, not mental trauma.

He kept to her though, let her hold him close. When he woke with night terrors, she would run to him and kiss his head. He smelt horrible, of something tangy and bitter and very familiar, and body odour. But they all smelt of stale sweat, she guessed, as none of them seemed to complain. They all watched him, took extra jobs to ensure he didn't do much, fed him extra and gave him their waterskin to drink from. Mordred rode with her too, clutching at her waist, head on her spine. _He must have been so alone, _she thought. The physical contact, small as it may be, must be a blessing.

Merlynn feared seeing Gwen once they returned; she was the last of her family now, and without her brother she would be broken by it. The sentry noticed their solemn king and queen walk their horses into the kingdom, and she saw them send word further inward to the courtyard, which would then alert those within the castle. It only seemed to take seconds before Gwen was racing down the stairs and into Lancelot's arms; she hadn't seen Elyan yet, and she doubted that the sentry had told her.

"Merlynn," she smiled sweetly and took her stiff body into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," she mumbled.

Gwen pulled away from her, her lips tugged downward in a confused frown. "Whatever for - it should be _me _apologising, since I left Mordred."

"No - it's not your fault. It's not that, either. It's Elyan."

She saw her look over her shoulder, at the faces of the knights before she saw Elyan's horse without its rider. Her fingers cupped over her mouth and she sobbed, a muffled noise, and then she bolted toward his fallen body. He was slung over the saddle, as there was no other way to cart him, and she touched his face and his arms and wept into the chain-mail on his back.

Arthur did not tear Gwen away from her brother, but he went to Merlynn, his hand curling around her shoulder. "We will give him a proper burial," he whispered into her hair.

"We'll take him to the lake," she said with finality. "Put him on a boat, sail him off into the sea. Burn his body."

"Alright."

**[][][][][][]**

The funeral took place later in the afternoon, when the sun began to sink into the earth. Arthur ordered for the entire knighthood, as well as Elyan's friends, to join them in mourning his loss, and so they rode off to the Lake of Avalon. Unbeknownst to them all but Merlynn, it was the place of Freya's death as well and where her body lay in waiting for her. _Perhaps, _she thought, _Freya and Elyan could be friends. _

It took a while to prepare for the funeral, which gave Merlynn (and the rest of them) the chance to bathe and relax before the ceremony. She dressed in her darkest gown, one she never needed to wear before, to suit the occasion, and she brushed Gwen's hair and kissed her head. Galahad was crying with her, huddled at her leg; Lancelot had told him, as Gwen didn't have the heart to, and he wailed for _hours._

"He's dead, Merlynn," Gwen would whisper. "My brother..."

But she did not cry at the burial ceremony, though she did flinch when his boat caught alight as his body drifted to the sea. A knights body was usually burnt on land in a large wooden formation, but here was where Merlynn felt was most respectable for Elyan. Here, his soul (she hoped) would remain attached to the lake, and perhaps Gwen would see him again. The magical properties of the Lake of Avalon consumed the dead, made life of a soul.

Merlynn kissed Gwen's head and then moved to Gaius' side. "I was warned that one of us would not return," she muttered to him, her hand sliding into his. Arthur glanced back at her from his place by Lancelot's side, his brows furrowed. She smiled shortly, an attempt to ease his worries, until he turned his head back to the boat floating up the lake's path.

"It's not your fault, Merlynn," he said immediately.

"Elyan is dead," she pointed out.

"The sword that Elyan fell brave to was surely intended for Arthur. Now he is safe. And so is Mordred." Mordred stood beside Gwaine, his face a lot whiter than usual, though his face was impassive and he, too, did not cry. His eyes almost looked cold.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred waited for the entire castle to sleep before he escaped. Camelot was a suffocating place - how could he have not noticed it before? It almost felt like a prison cell, damp and cold and full of criminals, liars and murderers. Of all of the world, only one was trustworthy, deserving of love, and he _would _give it to her. He would fight with all of his power to fulfil every desire, each whim. She cared for him, more than the others. _The others only hate, torment me, laugh and judge. If they knew who I was they would burn me. _

He would burn them first.

Hood slung over his head, he ran through the forest in search of her. It had been three days without her, three days wanting and waiting, pretending that he was fine. It was particularly difficult around Em - _Merlynn. _She would smile at him, touch his hand and hold him close, and he had to grit his teeth to force himself from stabbing her in the throat.

Mordred saw her own black cloak amongst the trees, and he ran to her, smiling as they embraced. "Morgana," he beamed. _My lady. I will do whatever you please, whatever you wish - just tell me. Anything. __  
_

_"_How are they all?" she asked.

"Arthur thinks he has won - Merlynn is none the wiser," he told her with a smirk. Morgana would rule Camelot soon, he knew, and he would stand by her side as he watched them all _fall. _"They have no idea."

"Do you understand now who you can trust?"

"You, Morgana," he said. _Only Morgana. The others hate me, the others don't understand. Morgana saved me, and they took me away from her. They will never understand. _"It's only ever been you."

Morgana smiled and touched his hair, brushed it away from his forehead. "You are _not _one of them, and you will _never _be."

"I hate them - _all of them," _Mordred spat. It was true; her hate was his, and her hatred burned like dragonfire.

"You have done well to see past the lies to the real truth. You have an important part to play in the future," Morgana declared with a smile. "Together we will ensure the destruction of everything that Arthur holds dear."

He would kill a thousand men if she asked him to, without remorse. He would kill Arthur, Merlynn, all the knights - even _Gaius, _the old fool of a physician - and he would _laugh _while he did it. All Morgana had to do was ask. Mordred was hers; mind, body and soul.

* * *

**Oops. Evil Mordred. He is heeeeerreee - well, not really _evil _Mordred, but _slave _Mordred, I guess. I mean, did you see me change Mordred's view on Merlynn - once Emrys, and now he refers to her as Merlynn (I was a little proud of myself). ughdkjgbjfkhn I have things planned, guys~ I think I do at least.**

** : **ahaha, thank you!

**mortaldaughterofathena: **I understand your dislike of Mordred - really, I do, even though he's my baby. He's a flawed character, faulted and dark and he made stupid decisions in the end, but _yeah~ _Anyway, glad you enjoyed the chapter! And to Merlynn's reveal, I have things plaaaned c:

**Ascello: **Thanks for telling me about the Gwen part - I changed it quickly, haha! Also, _thank you _for saying that - I thought it was a pretty cool 'twist' too, and it was all thanks to a random reviewer I think, so I just had to do it.

**ariah23: **ugh, it would be so horrible, I agree.

**ry123red: **Yay! Another Mordred-sympathiser~~

**I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, because it is one of the turning points of the season and guh it was one of the darkest episodes - I hope I made it a little more disturbing~ Please tell me your thoughts!**

**Much love, **

**Khaleesi~**


	12. A Lesson in Vengeance: Plans

**Wow. I am so very sorry. I know I've been posting less frequently (it's been like a month, right?) and it's been ridiculous with life right now. School is a killer; I have assignments, a ton of homework - in the last week or so I've been doing work placement, so my writing and my writing inspiration has died severely. Also, emotional stuff has gotten worse. My depression is reaching dangerous points and my panic attacks have gotten more severe, so when I write it's all... discombobuulated. **

**I really apologise. Like, a lot. I know I should be updating every week, but I'm terrible at time management and stress and ugh. **

**I haven't made Arthur or Merlynn announce that magic is okay in the kingdom yet, simply because Elyan's died because of magic and people are all, "oh no _Elyaaaaann," _and stuff.  
**

**Also, go watch Iron Man 3. And Warm Bodies. And just.. everything, go see everything and see the amazing lineup of cinematic brilliance this year. **

**CHAPTER 12 - A LESSON IN VENGEANCE**

_All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry?  
It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie?_

_If we're only ever looking back_  
_We will drive ourselves insane_  
_As the friendship goes resentment grows_  
_We will walk our different ways_

_- 'Bad Blood' by Bastille._

* * *

Three weeks had passed since Elyan's death. The entire kingdom seemed to shift, or perhaps it was just for the group who knew him best. The knights, especially, were effected by his passing. A little less effort in training, less joy and laughter and games - even _Gwaine _couldn't seem to crack a joke. Arthur let them off early some days, and others he offered to pay for drinks at the tavern. There were some days where they would do nothing at all and just _sit _and talk and mourn the loss of their comrade.

_"_They need time," Arthur would say. "We all do."

Merlynn would visit Gwen as much as she could, and spent most of her free time with her - she was still her main chambermaid, for she denied any and all of Merlynn's suggestions to resign. Not even for a temporary period of time. Gwen appeared to be even more _determined _in her job, cleaning and dressing Merlynn with a smile far too bright and a laugh too loud. She sometimes took care of Arthur's chores, too. It was a touchy subject for Merlynn to breach, so she tried to ignore it as much as possible and pretend for Gwen in hopes that - in time - she would heal.

Her and Arthur's anniversary was looming over them, ever so close and completely inconvenient. A part of her thought that the celebration would be a nice distraction, but in the end it was a happiness in a dark time that would be tainted with bad memories. So she kept her silence, a smile equipped from years of pretending, hoping that none could see through her ploy. Gwen was far more excited than she was for the anniversary with good reason, she guessed - _a distraction - _and she would remind Arthur every second she could. Arthur knew it too, so he laughed and said many elaborate things of his not-so-secret plans for the day.

Merlynn doubted they would do much; a walk in the woods, or a small picnic. They had done it countless times in the past, and it was a default for Arthur whenever he couldn't think of anything else.

Among these matters was Mordred. Gaius ordered for regular meetings with the druid. "A man who has suffered torture by Morgana needs to be spoken to," he had said, and she agreed to it. He seemed uncomfortable around her, unwilling to talk; his eyes burned a cold flame when he looked at her, unlike the sweet vulnerability he usually did. Merlynn supposed it was because of what had happened_. __He faced serious psychological trauma from the Dark Tower. I can't imagine what Morgana did to him, _she thought. Even his interaction with the knights were different, and it was clear that he had difficulty forcing normalcy among them.

She sat in the training fields, where the grass grew lush and flowers blossomed, the spot where the knights barely ventured. Merlynn had brought a rug to keep her skirt from being dirtied (for she knew the servants would be angry) and a few books, some full and others empty. Magic books disguised as Gaius' many hand-written novels, empty journals where she could write her thoughts if she pleased and historical pieces that Geoffrey of Monmouth almost threw at her after her wedding ceremony. It seemed only fitting for her to turn to them to keep her occupied. There was adventure on the horizon, and yet all she could do was it and be lost in words and rotting parchment.

Gwaine called for her sometime later, when shadows crept toward her outstretched feet and the pages began to turn inky black before her eyes. To turn from the books took a force far greater than she expected, and when she did she noticed that aside from them, the fields were empty. _I'd barely even noticed them leave, _she pondered, leafing the page she was on.

"Princess, you want to come for a drink?" he asked, that bare-toothed smile of his etched in his sun-bitten face. The offer to become lost in the ale and pointless laughter of the tavern was so tempting, she found her mouth opening on her own accord to accept; but Arthur was alone, _Gwen _would be alone if Lancelot went with them. Her being happy seemed so cruel when her friend was still so lost.

"Ah - no," she denied, a terrible feeling swelling in her chest. Merlynn spent little time with the knights now, and she missed them horribly. Her guilt kept her from it, however, for she was a murderer by assistance - _one of you will not return. __One of you will not return. _She had known for some time that one of them would die, and she saw Elyan disappear; she knew then that he would be the one, but she couldn't move fast enough. _Didn't. _"I should retire to my chamber, anyhow. I'm sure Arthur is expecting me."

"_I'm sure _Arthur wouldn't mind you spending time with your friends," he retorted smoothly.

Her mouth slid into a smile. "I... need to return the books first."

"That's a girl," he grinned. His hands, she noted, were so dark and large in comparison to hers, as he pulled her up from the ground. "Here, I'll help." Gwaine rolled the mat and collected half the books, leaving the rest for her. Merlynn almost laughed at his behaviour - she was no proper lady, she was a warrior just like the rest, with a crown on her tangled locks, and she needn't request others to carry things for her.

Gwaine walked beside her on the journey back into the castle, but she could see that he wanted to speak to her. His mouth would open, and when she looked at him he would smile and laugh a nervous chuckle, then keep walking. Eventually, she just said, "Come on, Gwaine. Spit it out."

"How are you?" was all he asked.

"Really? _That's _your glorious question?" He nodded. "I'm... _fine. _I think it should be Gwen you should be asking, I mean - she just lost her brother, not me."

"Yes, but nobody ever really asks you how you are, and I know that you enjoy putting blame on yourself," he replied. Merlynn almost smiled again because it was the truth, and he had a deep understanding of that truth; he was never one to sugar-coat it. She shifted the books in her arms, feeling his eyes on her face, which she had decided to keep turned to the front.

"If it wasn't for me, he would've lived," she blurted, and almost instantly she heard him sigh.

Gwaine tugged at his lower lip with white teeth from countless apples. "How could it had been _your _fault? Elyan ran ahead, he disobeyed Arthur's orders - he decided to fight an _enchanted sword _all on his own. How does that involve you?" he seemed almost scandalised that she would even place blame on herself.

"You wouldn't understand," she insisted. _Heed my words which you concern, one of you will not return. One of you will not return. _He knew not of her magic, of her knowledge, of her war with the High Priestess Morgana, of her true name. He knew nothing, and she wished she could tell him things - everything, for he would be the most understanding of the lot. Merlynn liked to think that he would react like Gwen did, demanding to be shown proof and becoming excited over her talent.

"Try me." Gwaine said the words as he came to a halt, his eyebrows raised to challenge her.

The words, her secrets, pressed against her tongue and fought against closed lips, begging to spill like running water down a stream. "I... can't." Five people knew, as did countless others who were faced with her wrath; Gwaine was possibly the next person to tell, but there was too little time, and she was afraid. Morgana was so close to breaching Camelot, she could feel her darkness threading through the walls and sticking to the people like oil. She was coming, fiercely and violently like a storm in the horizon.

"You've told me lots of things before, princess," he pointed out. "Why can't I know this one thing, especially if it's bugging you so much?"

"I..."

"Is it to do with Elyan? Arthur? _You?" _he pestered, brows settled in a curious confusion.

"It's me, yes, but also a myriad of other things. Things that could take years to tell, take even longer to comprehend. I've told only a few, to be frank - some reacted better than others," she smiled, almost bitterly, at the memory of Arthur hating her for weeks when she told him. Gwaine twisted his mouth into a frown. "I always get a little worried when I've told someone because it's such a _large _part of me. It took me years to tell _Arthur."_

"You don't have to tell me if you feel that strongly about it," he said with a kind smile, his mouth suddenly light on her forehead. "I'm sure I'll live."

Merlynn put all the books in one hand using her hip to leverage the weight, then moved her free hand to cup his cheek. "Thank you," she smiled. "In time, I swear, I'll tell you. I just need time, Gwaine."

"I understand, princess."

They walked in silence after that, and she was grateful for the comfort that it gave her to have a person beside her, not pressuring her or making forced conversation about her destiny or common things in the kingdom. Once they reached her chambers - with help from the guards who opened the door for them - he set her books and the rug on the desk. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and she doubted he would be hiding from them. There was no way to tell where he had gone. The room was cold, empty, and she felt disappointment that her husband was not there.

"Maybe he's out drinking with the lads already?" Gwaine suggested, as if reading her thoughts etched in her face.

"Maybe."

"Are you coming, then?"

_"Why not?"_

The tavern was spilling with life and off-key music from the drunken bards. The place was once where many used as an excuse when they had no clue where Merlynn was, so her minimal appearance at the tavern was usually quite a surprise to others; but when she was there, even as queen, merriment and games would ensue. The first few times she sneaked into the tavern with Gwaine, Evoric and the drunkards had regarded her with unease, obviously wondering if he needed to inform the king. Though, again and again she came, and slid among them like there was no title to her name. Soon they began to accept her presence, even enjoy it.

Arthur was among the knights at the small table, a half-full tankard of ale held loose in his hand. He smiled when he saw her and offered his lap for her to take a seat upon, to which she rolled her eyes, though complied anyway. Mordred was among them, smiling as usual, but she could see a strain at his mouth and his eyes, his grip a little tighter on his tankard. She tried to push her voice into his mind, to ask if he was feeling ill, but she couldn' was as though he didn't want her in there anymore - though she never broke through the boundaries and searched through his head without permission, because it was rude and she had no reason to doubt him.

Merlynn didn't think anything of it. He was mourning - Elyan was one of his closest friends, and he died trying to save Mordred. He had reason for his disclosed behaviour.

**[][][][][][]**

Their anniversary couldn't have arrived at such an opportune moment, Arthur thought. Merlynn was feeling terribly upset, as were the rest of the city, about Elyan's passing and Camelot had been in a wreck since. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to bring much life into his friends and his wife, which made his own sadness rise. After his father, he decided he would try and not mourn for those he would lose in the wars to come. It was proving difficult as Elyan was one of his finest knights and friends; loyal, trustworthy, skilled and wholehearted.

It never seemed to be the time to address the issue of magic in Camelot, so he couldn't do that. It made him anxious, to know that the Triple Goddess and the Disir were watching and waiting for him to fulfil his promise, and he hadn't yet. If he would do it now, his people would name him traitor - especially so close to Elyan's death. So, he planned for a picnic; Merlynn enjoyed it when he was assertive with plans, usually because he was horrible at remembering and planning things, and so it was a nice change.

He woke early in the morning and ordered for one of the first servants he could find to pack together some food into a basket, which they did so as quickly as possible. Arthur didn't ask for Gwen's help - while she needed distraction, he didn't want to force her awake early just to help him prepare (even though he was hopeless). Merlynn was still asleep when he returned, basket and blanket slung over his arm and dangling from his fingertips. He set them down by the door and went to her sleeping form, his smile soft and his fingers itching to wipe the stray strands of inky hair from her cheek.

"Merlynn," he reached over and pressed his lips to her forehead, feeling soft skin.

She murmured incoherently, but her eyes sprung open, bleary and glazed over; she smiled. "Why are you up? You're never up," she said, leaning up on her elbows to give him a curious stare.

"I know. It's our anniversary today, and I wanted to take you out for a _lovely _picnic." Even he could feel himself gleaming with pride, grinning like an idiot at her; he waited for her to coo, to bring him close and kiss him on the mouth, give him praise or _something, _like a small smile lingering at her lips.

"Someone reminded you, didn't they?"

_Ah, _she knew him. Before he could sputter out a lie, she laughed a silly laugh and got out of bed, her hair an utter mess about her thin face. She ruffled his hair with a playful little wink and stretched; he couldn't help but be deflated a little by her reaction to him. He expected... _more. _"Where are we going?" she asked, moving to her cupboard to pick out clothing.

"Uh, just to a little spot out in the woods." Arthur really hadn't decided; he thought of the place they had gone a while back, while his father was king and Morgana was scheming against them under innocent guises, but it brought back too many bad memories.

"So, we're going to go for a ride until we find a place, right?"

"...Basically."

They left Camelot once Merlynn was dressed, which didn't take very long. For a man who was almost obsessed with preserving his kingdom, Arthur found himself leaving it a lot; without a queen, even, which left it rather weak and defenceless. Some of the lingering council men met with him in his chambers some of the time, arguing that they were vulnerable without a strong hand (Gaius didn't count, apparently) and a crown. Arthur gave up on asking Merlynn to stay back, because it would be silly to do such a thing; she kept by him, even when he didn't want her, and she would keep by him until he was dust in the earth.

The air was crisp and cool, and there was a laughter in the air that kept him merry. It was rare for the two of them to leave the castle walls now without a mission, involving danger or fighting, or death. For them to ride out, smiles on their faces, their conversation light and sweet, as if there was no evil lingering behind them. There was no Morgana, no death, just the two of them. At one point, Merlynn bet she could beat him in a race, and she threw her head back and whooped as Firefoot shot off in the distance. This time, he left her win - one, because he had the basket hooked on his saddle and two, he liked her reckless laughter in the distance, the way she would look back and grin at him.

"I can't wait to eat," she said, once they had calmed down from their race. She was softly panting, either from the adrenaline or exhaustion and there was sweat on her brow, but she was smiling and she looked so glorious. "I'm starved."

"It's here. I made sure the servant got the finest of foods for today," he replied with his proud grin again.

Merlynn rolled her eyes. "Do you even know any of the servants names in the kingdom?"

"I know George," Arthur insisted.

"And where _is _George?"

Arthur didn't really remember the last time he had seen George; perhaps it was a few months before, and he had gotten so frustrated with the bland servant. "Oh, that's right. He's someone else's servant now, I think."

"_You think? _George dressed up like me, I remember, trying to impress you," she laughed.

"Yeah, he was a persistent one."

"Wasn't he a good servant, though? Why'd you give him up?" They never spoke about it; one day, George just didn't show up and Merlynn didn't much like him anyway, so he wasn't at all surprised when she didn't notice.

It was easy to answer that. "He was so boring, and infuriating with how _perfect _he was at his job."

"You were angry with me for being incompetent, and when you finally get a good servant, you sack him?"

He flushed; he didn't understand why he kept Merlynn - well he did, but no one else seemed to get it - because she was clumsy and she back-chatted, and she wasn't very good at cleaning. But she was also helpful, and she eventually understood how to do things; they got into a ritual that just felt awkward with anyone else, even _before _they began courting. "Basically," was all he could say, and she rolled her eyes again.

They turned down the path, and that's when things went into chaos. There was a loud blast close to his horse, sending dirt and rocks into his face, and Lamri rears out of the fear of it all. His girth snapped, and he fell; Merlynn screamed out his name. Luckily, he didn't fall too hard, and he still had his sword attached to his hip, for bandits began to race out from behind trees and under hills. He fought as best he could with the stinging pain in his side, the blood trickling down his brow.

"Move, Arthur!" he heard, and he ducked to the ground moments before there was a crackling sound.

There were shouts, some screams, and gurgling sounds when bodies made impact. Arthur made the decision to look up. Merlynn was using her magic to kill them off - _no, _not knocking them unconscious, but snapping their necks and tossing them back with such a force that their bones crumpled in their bodies. And she was a dangerous thing, where she stood so tall, her eyes so gold it was almost blinding, words of the Old Religion spitting from her clenched teeth. She was almost shaking from the power that was escaping her, and the earth began to respond. Around her, nature was shaking, rising, moving to the natural curl of her magic.

She needed to stop. "Merlynn," he called for her, and she instantly relaxed. The storm that she was as Emrys, curling over the sky with flashes of light and darkness, disappeared once he said her name and the gold melted away. That, in itself, was both a relief and terrifying.

"We need to get you back," was all she said, crouching down at his side to examine his wounds. "Gaius will fix you."

Arthur rode back atop Merlynn's horse, Lamri racing after them in stride; either because of her magic, or because Lamri was always smart, and always knew how to get home. Gaius made a small noise in the back of his throat - a scoff, or a _tsk - _for he knew of their habits, but then he saw the blood soaking into Arthur's side. He said something in Old Religion, not a spell but a word, and dragged him over to one of the chairs.

"Merlynn, get the kit. It's upstairs," Gaius ordered. Then he looked at Arthur, that bare eyebrow raised, "What happened?"

Once he was finished telling the tale of the bandits and the girth snapping, Merlynn was back downstairs with the kit against her hip. "I don't think they were after our picnic basket," she remarked.

"Obviously not," he replied.

"He's going to be okay, right?"

"I'm going to -"

Gaius chuckled a little, amused at her concern. "Yes, of course. But you're very fortunate, Arthur. A fall like that... you could've _easily _broken your neck!"

"But I didn't," and it was all that mattered.

"Sire!" Leon, once seeing the disaster that was the king and queen's anniversary picnic, ordered together a few men to scour the area. Arthur wondered how they would react to the bodies; crushed against the trees, necks snapped, bodies pulverised by nothing. But, when the knight stormed in, he didn't seem to have the thought of the dead in mind. "We recovered your saddle from the forest trail. The girth has been unpicked and re-stitched. It was designed to break, sire."

"Another traitor?" Merlynn sighed, sounding exasperated rather than angry. "_Really?" _

**[][][][][][]**

Tyr Seward was a robust young boy, older than Merlynn but fresh-faced and sweet. _He's not like the others, _Arthur would say, because he treated horses like he would people, with such respect and kindness. He was often teased for it by the servants, but he took it in stride, and didn't try to alter himself for any of them. It was why he was named personal stablehand to the king and queen - and why he was named the largest suspect for the attempted murder of Arthur. He prepared both Lamri and Firefoot that morning.

Merlynn hated the thought of someone like _Tyr _being a traitor; it made her toes curl (and not in a good way). Arthur sent three men to collect him, and Leon to discover evidence, then called for a meeting in the council chamber. She hoped he was wrong, that it was all a mistake; someone _else _sneaked into the stable, changed the saddles and left before Tyr found them. But when he was dragged into the room, by Gwaine and another knight, she tried to keep her composure, to be a stern queen, merciful yet strong.

Arthur was the dominant speaker for it, because she refused to treat Tyr unkindly.

"The thread we found at the boy's home matches that used to sabotage your saddle, sire," Leon declared, moving to Tyr's side. The large boy looked positively terrified at that, his watery eyes widening and his mouth gaping. He looked to her, and she had to look away, for she could not bear his fear.

"Who put you up to this, Tyr?" Arthur sounded pained, and rightly so.

"No one - no one's put me up to anything, sire," Tyr replied, trembling.

Arthur sighed, and glanced back; she refused to return his gaze. She wanted to be the supportive wife, but to charge _Tyr _of all people, who once wept because he accidentally stepped on a chicken and mortally wounded it, was something she did not agree with. When he noticed that she was not going to participate, he let out another breath, defeated, and turned to Tyr again. "You're saying you acted alone? Had no help? No accomplice?"

He shook his head desperately. "I don't know anything about these things you're talking about, sire. I've done nothing, save look after your horse and tack like I always do."

"Tyr -" Merlynn tried to speak, but all that escaped her was some choked sound, voiceless and pained. She was staring at him, and he at her, with his wide, rounded brown eyes and she was unable to say anything terrible against him. _It wasn't right - this wasn't right._

Arthur looked at her once, his brows furrowed, but then he looked away back at Tyr. "The evidence is staring you in the face. You can't deny it."

"Sire, I swear on my mother's life -!" he protested. Tyr, from what he had told her, was very close to his mother; he didn't have many friendships in the kingdom, and didn't talk to anyone other than herself, Arthur and the knights, so he cherished his mother as 'his best friend'. To swear upon her _life _was a statement she could not ignore, and so she stepped forward, taking Arthur's arm in case her knees failed her.

She hated being queen sometimes. "Just give us their name, if you are working with someone," she pleaded. "Please, Tyr. I'd hate to see you hurt because of someone else. Whoever they are, they have tricked you. Why protect them?"

His eyes were watering. He reminded her of a terrified mouse, staring up at their predator with their shining, brown eyes, so wide and so vulnerable for those few moments before they would flee. "I have no name. There's no name to give, I swear."

Merlynn wanted to turn to Arthur and tell him to let Tyr go; he was a good man, a sweet, kind man, and he didn't deserve any horrible treatment. But before she could, Arthur was tugging her behind him, his hand firmly clasped around her arm, and he said, "Then you leave me no choice! Though it saddens me greatly to do so I must charge you with treason." Her head buried in his back - she did not care for formalities, or her appearance. Not then. "Is there anything further you'd like to say?"

"You're my king, sire," his voice trembled. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Never."

"Tyr Seward, by the power vested in me I hereby sentence you to death." If you listened deeply enough, you could hear Arthur's tremble as well.

Merlynn couldn't watch Tyr be taken away, and so she left the council chambers through the side door. She felt consumed by his grief and his betrayal, and she knew she could do little to sway Arthur's decision on Tyr. Usually, she would be perfectly alright with sending someone to their death had they put danger to Arthur's life - but this was Tyr, and he was different. He wasn't a bad person. She felt tears burn at her eyes again, like they always did, and she wiped at them hurriedly. "A queen never cries," she heard maids whisper once, when they found her sobbing in the hallway once.

Arthur's arms soon found their way around her waist, and she was pressed into his warm chest. "I had to," he whispered. "The law is the law, Merlynn. Whether we like it or not."

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn refused to be around Arthur for the rest of the evening. She understood him, of course; as king it was his right to deal the mercies of those who wronged the kingdom, but... it was _Tyr. _She knew, more than most, that kind faces could hide dark shadows, but this was much different than Morgana. This was Tyr, the sweet fat boy who charmed her with kind words and bashful tendencies. Even when she was rushed or stressed, he found a way to make her smile. That was why she couldn't believe Arthur when he said that Tyr was the mastermind.

Tyr was an innocent soul.

"It just doesn't make sense, Gaius," she ranted. Gwen and Lancelot were far too busy with their son to be held accountable to Merlynn's tangents, so she went to Gaius; he was always willing to listen to her. "Why would Tyr want Arthur dead?"

She noticed that Gaius liked to clean his monocles a bit _too _much. "Perhaps he harboured some grudge, some festering resentment?" he suggested.

"No, that's not possible. He loved his work, and he respected Arthur. And Arthur respected him, I know he did," she replied, tugging at her hair which had come slightly loose from its ribbon.

"Merlynn," he sighed, "it's not always possible to know what's in the mind of another man."

"Maybe so, but Arthur was right about this - if it was Tyr, he couldn't have done it alone." Merlynn paused and sat on the soft-cushioned chair from across Gaius, her hand capturing his. "Someone else is involved and unless we find out who they are, what's to stop them from trying it again?"

Gaius didn't answer her. He only retracted his hand and returned to his work station. He had nothing more to say to her - neither did she. Merlynn was silent as she left the physician's chambers to return to her own bedchamber. A part of her regretted not taking up the offer of having her own extended bedchamber with easy-access door to Arthur's, though she could do nothing about it now. As she loomed closer to the door, where the guards bowed dutifully.

"My lady, Ser Mordred is speaking to the king," one told her. _I've never caught their names, _she thought, staring. _  
_

"Am I still able to go in?" she asked, almost in amusement. A smile tugged at her red mouth and she was almost ready to push open the door herself; Mordred had been avoiding her as of late, and it was starting to infuriate her.

"Ser Mordred specified that they -" she had enough.

Merlynn brushed past the men and strolled inside. Perhaps she was being irrational, but she was angry at Mordred for ignoring her, and angry at Arthur for sending Tyr to death. She didn't need to be ordered around by guards.

" - enemies are very often the last person you would suspect. Tyr is just such a person. I am sorry, my lord, that we were not able to figure him out until _after _he initiated his attack," Mordred was saying. _Why would he, of all the men, be here to comfort Arthur? _

It was easy to expect it from Lancelot, or Leon; they were the closest to Arthur of his men, and so it wouldn't have surprised her. Though Mordred had drawn closer to Arthur since his knighthood, they weren't as close as the others - not enough to be the comforter. _Peculiar, _she thought, as she forced a smile on her face and bared her teeth to the two men.

"Sorry, was just going to collect my coat. It's a bit chilly outside," she laughed, an odd, tinkling noise that she recognized as her false one. Merlynn hoped that Arthur did not notice her façade as she moved to kiss him on the cheek in greeting, and was glad to see him not mention her behaviour. "What are you two up to?"

"Just... talking about Tyr," Arthur admitted, arm looping around her waist. She turned to Mordred only to see his eyes focused on Arthur only, never straying to her; she wanted to speak to him through their link, but he refused to answer. It was like smashing her fists against a brick wall. "Are you going out? Do you think that's entirely safe, considering what's happening?"

"I'm just going to visit Gwen," she lied. Her smile returned, the one that hurt her cheeks and made her face tight. "I'll be back before supper."

"I could escort you, if you'd like," Mordred's voice was not the same, and it worried her. It was dull, void of all of his light and his vibrance that she was so drawn to. His magic no longer curled around hers, but hissed and puffed up like an angered cat.

Usually, she would have been eager to spend time with her young friend, but an odd feeling ached in her chest and she was put-off at the thought of being alone with Mordred. "No, it should be fine. We have double patrol this evening, so I have plenty of guarding." His eyes narrowed; her smile widened. "I'll be back soon!" she then shouted, as she raced from the room.

Merlynn went to Tyr's cell. The guards didn't care to ask her business down in the cells, for she was a queen and had the authority to speak to prisoners, and didn't question when she asked for them to give them privacy. She gave them a wink, fooling them to believe she would be tricking Tyr into speaking truth, and they left with a chuckle after letting her into his cell. In her hands was a bowl of soup, fresh and steamed from the kitchens, and she watched Tyr's eyes light up at the sight of food.

"I thought you might be hungry," she smiled, handing him the bowl. "The cook was kind enough to save some for you."

"Thank you, my lady," he stammered. He was blushing as he looked to the bowl, stubby fingers playing with the spoon; she noticed that he dared not to look at her yet, and she wondered why.

"You may call me Merlynn, if you'd like. I've never had a problem with it before." His lips tugged upwards, but he said nothing. So she took a seat beside him and added, "Listen, Tyr, I'd like to help you, if you'd let me."

"No one can help me now."

"You're forgetting I'm the _queen, _Tyr. I have the ability to speak to the king, to change his mind."

Tyr paused for a moment, his eyes sorely on the cooling soup in his lap, before he said, "I didn't do anything." His voice was calm, though his words were clipped with desperation. "On my honour, I didn't."

"But that's not the whole truth, isn't it?" she asked him, watching his face twitch.

"..._No." _

Merlynn felt frustration creep into her mind; it made her grit her teeth and clench her fists into the thick skirts around her thighs. Tyr was obviously lying, trying to protect someone who used his vulnerability to do a dirty deed. She only wanted to help. "I know you're not to blame, Tyr. Please just tell me what happened."

His face turned wild, panicked. "No! They -"

"Who?"

Tyr ushered her closer after a moment, his fingers clenched around her forearm to bring her closer. "This was a few days back," he whispered. "One of the horses came down with colic so I had sleep in the stable to watch over him. That night, I was woke up by a sound. There was someone there, going over the king's saddle. I knew it wasn't right. I tried to get away and warn someone, but they saw me. They told me if I so much as whispered a word of what I'd seen… they'd take my mother. They'd take her and they'd cut her throat." Tears spilled down his red cheeks, and she felt the need to bring him close as though she was his mother, but she only gripped his shoulder.

"Who was it, Tyr?"

"I can't!"

"You'll be hanged if you don't," she warned him.

He huffed. "And they'll kill my mother if I do."

"I wouldn't let that happen, I promise you."

"No," Tyr puffed up his chest. He looked scared, but his face was hard and he was slowly pushing her toward the door. "If it means me dying instead of her then so be it. I would much rather die."

Merlynn clenched her fist over his shoulder, and she opened her mouth only to say nothing. She hadn't a clue of what to say to convince him otherwise; he had determination to protect his mother, just as she had done the same to protect hers, and so she could not judge him for his sacrifice. But as she had someone to keep her alive, she would do the very same for him. So she gave him a sad little smile and said she would return soon, then left to return to her bedchamber.

Merlynn hoped Mordred was not still there - his presence was now _off, _an odd feeling of dread she hadn't felt since she first saw him in Ismere. She hoped it was just because of his extended time with Morgana, and his post-traumatic behaviour that seemed to linger over him. But, she couldn't show her feelings to anyone just yet. She had to be supportive, patient. He was still there when she returned, like she had dreaded. It seemed that Arthur offered for him to join them for supper - she wanted to slap her husband upside the head for it.

"Arthur," she said, while he was in the middle of eating. "I went to see Tyr."

"And? We've been over this, Merlynn. The evidence doesn't lie," he responded and sent an exasperated look toward Mordred.

"No one denies the crime, but the only part that Tyr played was to see it done."

Arthur paused, as did Mordred. In fact, the young druid seemed to tense. "He told you this?" Arthur asked. She nodded. "Who was it?"

"He won't say," she sighed. "Too frightened. They threatened him."

The unnamed 'they' was infuriating, to both her and to Arthur; he clenched his jaw tight and his eyes, set cobalt blue and blazing, looked to the door. "I must speak with him at once. My apologies, Ser Mordred," but not once did his eyes return to the young man seated at the table. But Merlynn's did. He was still, the fork pressed with the pad of his thumb, digging deep into the table so hard she feared it would crack.

As Arthur stood, though, he leaped into action. He moved so fast she barely saw him. "But sire - Gaius said to rest. You should let your injuries heal."

"It's fine, Mordred - but thank you for your concern. I have Merlynn here to keep me upright," he smiled teasingly at her, and she fought to smile back. Merlynn was still looking at Mordred, watching his reactions to each word and movement. What if he was the 'they'? _No, _she told herself. _He can't be. He's Mordred. _He was too good, too innocent and kind and soft-spoken. He was passionate about being a druid, about living in a free world. He loved Arthur.

"He's frightened, sire," his voice was no longer desperate and loud, but smooth and cool. "I don't think it would be wise to interrogate him anymore than he has been already. Let him think it over and maybe after a night in the cells he'll be prepared to speak about this mysterious criminal."

Things were silent between them, and as she watched Arthur's expression change she knew he would agree. "You're right," he finally said. "Come, Merlynn. Join us for supper."

Merlynn swore she saw, as she sat across the table, Mordred's lips twitch upwards.

They supped and drank red wine and laughed, but Arthur's was the only genuine one. Merlynn couldn't stop passing a glance at Mordred and each time she did, he was always looking right back at her. He would cock his head and furrow his brow, but his mouth deceived him - even if he tried to hide his feelings with his eyes and the shape of his face, it was always his mouth that spilled his secrets. He would always smile, a faint, wicked smile she had seen many a time on Morgana, and then it would fade once again once Arthur regained himself.

When he left, Arthur asked if they had spoken through their minds, and she replied with a small, "no," and an amused smile. It was all she could do, because without the smile he would know something was wrong and persist - perhaps she was just being paranoid about Mordred and his behaviour, perhaps everything was the same but she was simply having a bad day. She only hoped it were true.

**[][][][][][]**

By morning Tyr was dead.

Arthur held Merlynn close and pressed his mouth to her temple, but all she could do was stare. No tears were shed by her, or by those who watched Gaius check over the body, but her throat was thick and she could feel her hands begin to tremble as they clutched at Arthur's tunic. She promised that she would help him, and there he lay at her feet, blood brown and dried against the stone. It was a blade that killed him, from what she could tell.

"The blade punctured his heart," Gaius' voice was solemn. "He suffered very little, I'm glad to say."

She felt his breath exhale against her hair as he sighed, "You've spoken to the night patrols?"

"They saw nothing unusual, sire," Percival spoke up from behind them.

"What about the guards?" he asked. "Why didn't they raise the alarm?"

Leon came forward with a roll of cloth in his hand, tinged black as though it had been burnt. "Sire. We found this in a grate in the guard room," he declared, holding it out for Gaius to inspect.

"Clary wort," the physician said after sniffing it. "A powerful soporific, sire."

"I've been a fool," Arthur cursed. "I should have spoken to him when I had the chance."

Merlynn put her hand to Percival's shoulder and sent him out of the cell, along with Gaius and Leon. She needed to speak to Arthur alone. "Arthur," she whispered, moving closer to him. "Whoever did this was no stranger to Camelot. They knew the citadel inside and out."

Her suspicions were clear; there were few people who she could name that had enough access to the castle and the dungeons and everything in between, and who had any reason to have vengeance against Arthur. But she said nothing about _that _then, for it was mere suspicion and to bring her husband to the very same paranoia would ruin his chances at survival.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred escaped mid-morning, while the rest of the knights were in the tavern to mourn the loss of their stablehand. _So silly, _he thought. The boy took care of their horses, but he was no one special; he was just another part of his Lady's grand plan. A part of him - a very small part of him - felt a little upset over the killing, but Tyr deserved it. Mordred told the boy to not speak about him, or about the plan, lest he or his mother be killed, but he went against his strict instructions. Tyr was just lucky he didn't go for his mother instead.

His Lady was waiting for him in the forest a little way from the citadel. His hood, a copy of the one he had as a boy, flew behind his body as he ran to their meeting place. Mordred hadn't seen her since before the attack on Arthur, and he had missed her. He lived to serve his Lady, to watch her dreams come to reality - and he would help her.

"Mordred," his Lady's sweet voice crooned, and he was brought into her arms.

"The plan failed," he admitted. He watched her eyes darken and her lips purse. "Arthur lives."

"Does he suspect you?"

He smirked. Arthur Pendragon, the gullible man that he was, never suspected _him. _He looked at Mordred with a softness akin to a paternal love, and would probably spill his secrets to him if he were to ask. "No, not yet." _Though I doubt he ever will. _

"And _Merlynn?" _Morgana's voice went deep into a growl, bitter and revolted, as though the name was poison. And it was. Merlynn was a poison to Morgana, and so a poison to him.

He didn't know how to answer her, though. From what he knew, Merlynn was smart - much smarter than Arthur - and at first, she stared at Morded the same as she always had. She would smile at him, a light in her eyes that he recognized as something that once would have made his heart clench, but all he did was curl his lip and watch her flinch away. Soon, she stopped smiling at him with genuine intent, and she began to look at him with something else. Her prying eyes would watch his eyes, his mouth, his hands, even when she thought he didn't notice. "I - the stablehand saw me, and almost told her everything. But I did what had to be done."

Mordred wanted her to be proud of him. "With Tyr gone you have to find someone else to take the fall," she told him, her pink mouth smiling. "When Arthur dies you have to be beyond all suspicion. _Especially _to Merlynn. She will be our tool, Mordred, in me gaining the throne. You must have the support of the knights - only with their allegiance can you turn them against their blessed queen."

Morgana's plan was an odd one, one he didn't understand. But he could not question her. Whatever she wanted must have been the right choice, so he went without a peep. "Arthur's still alive."

"For now. By tonight you'll have everything you need to finish the job."

"Arthur's doubled the guard, and there are patrols night and day. I can't risk leaving -"

Morgana laughed, and the sound was beautiful. "_Mordred," _she interrupted his worries. "It is _I _that will come to you."

"Morgana, I have something to tell you -" He had forgotten about it in the beginning, but when he felt a persistent pressing against his mind some days, when _she _looked at him, he knew he had to tell Morgana. It was important, so very important.

But, horses whinnied behind them and he knew his chance was lost. Mordred turned to see Gwaine in the lead of the mid-day patrol, heading straight toward them. _Did they leave early? _He turned back to Morgana, for she always knew what to do; she was pushing him toward the castle, a calm expression on her face.

So he ran.

* * *

**So I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really do, considering I made you wait over a month for it (omg). **

**Ascello: **I'm so glad I'm bringing people different emotions than in the show, oh my god, and making them like Mordred as a character. Because he is a beautiful, broken character and ugh. I haven't written the second half of the episode yet, so when I do I'll decide haha.

**cottonwool: **I was originally going to do that, but since Merlynn is Emrys... Morgana would've killed her anyway once she found out, so it would have been very difficult to write. Although, the dark side of Merlynn has come out here, and it will when she finds out Mordred is brainwashed onto Morgana's side, trust me.

**Corey Youngblood: **hahahahhheahaheuugh

**Ryn of Magic: **That's why I thought it was such a good plot point. He was weakened and had his mind twisted by the tower to break him down, but then Morgana enchanted him~

**Lavender Lightning: **oh my god, thank you. (Also I did watch the Walking Dead Pewdiepie Let's Play and I was sobbing near the end ugh) Goodness, thank you so much for all of what you said, gah.

**sgt pippa: **adfkdfjbkfnh thank you, ahh. And in response to all of that, omg, to be honest I haven't figured out what I really am going to do in the end. I have ideas - some happy, others gut-wrenching, others just eh - but I haven't laid down the concrete yet.

**guest: **(shhh i know i'm sorry omg)

**Oleander: **I actually predicted this the day I got this review wow

**Please review! (Don't hate me)**

**Love, **

**Khaleesi~**


	13. A Lesson In Vengeance: Revenge

**Every time I upload, I apologise. Yes, I'm sorry, but really, I can't help it. I mean, would you rather a good chapter that's a little late, or a badly scribbled chapter within a week? It's taken so much out of me to get this chapter written, because _wow _planning where I wanted to go with it was the most difficult decision ever - and especially because of how _different _Arthur's connection is with Mordred instead of Gwen.**

**So, basically, it sucked and I had writer's block and I've realised I enjoy writing in present tense more than past and _that _was another milestone. **

**Sorry, guys, but _wow. _**

**This probably sucks; tell me if it does, and I'll change it. **

**This was so difficult, but omg. _Don't hate me._**

**_Also, _this isn't completely (or well) edited so sorry if it kind of sucks still, I just haven't had much time and inspiration and it's really freaking annoying. Sorry, guys.**

**OH ALSO: ****I went to Supanova and volunteered there for the weekend (in Sydney) and I got to meet the knights, and saw Bradley from the distance; and they were all so lovely and friendly and _so very nice I can't. _**

**CHAPTER 13 - A LESSON IN VENGEANCE.**

_I'm scared to get close and I hate being alone.  
I long for that feeling to not feel at all.  
The higher I get, the lower I'll sink.  
I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim_

_- 'Can you feel my heart?' by Bring Me the Horizon. _

* * *

Merlynn was the one to go to Tyr's mother that morning to announce the news. Arthur was far too upset with himself to go, despite his offering to do so. She couldn't allow him to do that, for he would only get angrier. So she went, escorted by Percival; the towering knight was solemn and slow in his movements, but his stance was tall and protective as he guarded behind her. His hand remained on her waist as his body half-covered her own. It was as though Tyr's mother would physically attack her when she discovered the news of her son - something Merlynn did not doubt.

She hadn't met Gilda Seward before today, and it was something she did most regret. For Tyr to be so protective over her told tales of a sweet woman, and the scents that surrounded her home spoke of baked goods and love. Merlynn hated to be the one to tell Gilda that her son was murdered, but it was a necessity. So she knocked on the door and waited for the woman to answer.

Gilda's hand clutched at the door, the other filled with a cloth to wipe at her reddened eyes. "Oh, m - my queen," she gasped. "Has my son been set free? Is he alright? _Oh god_, what's happened?"

She pressed back against Percival._ Why did I choose to do this?_ Oh, she knew. If she hadn't spilled her secrets in the presence of others of Tyr's words - if she had kept quiet - he would still be alive. Merlynn promised to help him, and all she had done was hand him over to Death's clutches. "Hello, Gilda. Um, I have... news." She didn't know how to begin. "Your son," she paused, and kept her gaze on the floor, for if she looked at Gilda she swore she would cry, "he... he was innocent, I swear to you. Someone threatened him to kill the king, and that very same someone has, well - I'm so sorry, Gilda. I'm so very sorry."

And like that, she watched as the women broke before her. Gilda fell to her knees, endless sobs and wails esaping her trembling lips. Her hands, stained white from flour, clutched at her weeping face. Merlynn sunk down beside her, uncaring of her skirts, and hugged her because there was nothing else to be done. The mother did not fight her, but rather she fell, fingers scraping weakly into the bodice of her dress as she screamed a terrible scream into her shoulders.

This was the day that the sun shone the brightest.

When Gilda finally let her go, apologizing for ruining her pretty gown, Merlynn only smiled sadly and promised to invite the woman for dinner with Arthur sometime. She was, from what she saw, alone - oh, and how well she knew what being alone felt like, and she had no thought in mind to let her become bitter.

It only took three steps before the tears came. And when they came, choked and blubbering, senseless and pained, Percival tugged her in between two houses and pressed her close to his broad chest. His hand, much larger than her own, stroked at her hair as he whispered kind words in her ear. He was warm and soothing and through his comfort she wept louder than she had before.

Her fault. _All her fault._

Her tears subsided rather quickly, once she had begun. It took only seconds after that for her to compose herself. Merlynn wiped her face, took a deep breath and sent a smile to Percival that was both entirely too bright and too wide. But the kingdom needed a smile, a face of confidence and of happiness - they needed hope.

As they walked, Percival kept his hand pressed to her waist and his eyes cast on her face, knowing she was lying; knowing, silently so, that she was teetering on the edge of crumbling.

But Percival was the quiet type, and for it she was glad.

**[][][][][][]**

They heard the news about the attack as they reached the entrance to the citadel, and Merlynn hiked her skirts up to race her way to her bedchambers. Gwaine was, the rumours told her, thrown off his horse while chasing a hooded figure in the forest. Magic, they said, was the cause of it.

"No broken bones, I'm glad to say," Gaius said, once Gwaine finished his tale.

Arthur asked, "Anything else you remember?"

"Nothing. One minute I was pursuing them through the trees, the next I was flat on the ground," he admitted, a frown on his face. His injuries were meagre at best, mainly a pulled muscle and bruises littering his arms and his head.

"You're sure it was sorcery?"

"Without a doubt," Gwaine confirmed. "Powerful, too."

Morgana, she thought. There was no 'could be', when it came to the high priestess. She was poison, a chemical in the air that was potent and deadly. Merlynn tried to feel the surroundings of the bedchamber, and then stretch further; if Morgana had been in contact with Gwaine, she could try and feel the signature of her magic, the scent of it. When she found it, splayed across Gwaine's back like a brand, she knew it to be true.

"It's Morgana."

"Possible, yes. But why was she there?"

"Meeting someone."

Arthur shared a look with her, trying to confirm what she was saying. "Why would she stray so close to the citadel?"

"Maybe she had to," she said. Merlynn thought of it - of _him,_ and her suspicions began to piece together. "Maybe whoever she was meeting was here in Camelot." She looked to her husband and hoped he would understand. There was someone there, hidden in plain sight and able to have access to everything and anything in the citadel, who was working with Morgana. The one name that came to her mind was the one that made her feel ill and dizzy and awful. She only hoped she was false.

"Well, until we have more to go on this is idle speculation," Arthur declared. "Gaius, Merlynn - see what you can find in the woods. Perhaps there's something we overlooked." He left them, then, his gloved hand buried in golden locks.

"I'll go with them," Gwaine offered.

Gaius let out a small noise as he put his hand on the knight's shoulder. "You'll do no such thing. You'll rest, Gwaine. Physician's orders." After that, he glanced at Merlynn and left, saying he would wait for her in the courtyard.

Gwaine and Merlynn were alone, but she didn't feel like it. There was an itch at the back of her head, like she was being watched. But as she turned, there was no one else in the room but them. Merlynn felt it too, something off in the chamber that smelt of burnt grass and sulphur, though she didn't make herself obvious to her knowledge.

"I don't think this is over," she said quietly, taking a seat beside Gwaine.

"What do you mean?"

"Arthur survived. From past experiences, I know that people who try to kill Arthur don't just give up after one try," she rolled her eyes. "What's to stop them from trying again?"

Gwaine grimaced as he turned toward her, his arm cradled to his chest. "They haven't a chance; the citadel's on full alert. Every entrance and exit's being watched. Trust me, Arthur's safe as long as he remains in Camelot."

A bitter laugh spilled from her mouth. "But what if he's not safe here? What if Camelot's the most dangerous place that he could be? The person who attacked him has access to the stables - the personal stables - and knew the layout of the cells. They knew Tyr, and knew that he loved his mother more than he did himself." Merlynn put her hand atop Gwaine's uninjured shoulder and grimaced. "You need to stay close to Arthur - please."

"I'll do whatever I can to protect him," he replied, setting his hand above hers.

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn followed the itch of magic she felt once entering the forest. It all reeked of Morgana, a sickly sweet, tangy taste on the back of her tongue as the remnants of her magic poked around at hers. It was like dust, swirling off the planes of flat leaves and bark with each intrusion, curling in the air and coating the area once again once settled. She could almost see it, black as oil and thick, swallowing the earth around it.

"It was definitely Morgana," she declared as she stared around the clearing Gwaine told her about.

"How do you know?" Gaius asked curiously.

"I can feel her here." Gaius always knew of her magic, all lengths and breadths of her power, but never much about this - the way she felt magic brush against her own and surround her until she could distinguish one scent from the next. _Perhaps, _she thought, _it is Emrys' power. _Morgana never seemed to notice her. While they were both born of magic, they were very different.

Merlynn stood near the broken tree in the middle of the clearing and stared at the fork in the path ahead. Both paths lead to the edge of the forest into Camelot. The right was where we came through, so the left is where Morgana's accomplice must have run. She took off without Gaius to the left path, moving slowly and carefully through the low hanging trees in search for any clues that could give her an idea of what happened, and who was working with Morgana.

"There," Gaius said, pointing near her. "On that branch." There, hidden amongst browns and greens, was a bright blue cloth clutching onto the edge of the branch, and she smiled at it. "It's not much to go on, but it's something."

Gaius checked over it once they returned to his chambers and declared it belonged to someone who had plenty of coin. She touched it, smelt it, tried to ingrain her touch into the fabric so that she may soak up its memories. But she had seen the cloth before, cloaked across thin, broad shoulders and covering blue eyes of a darker hue.

When she said it was Mordred, he laughed at her. "But Mordred," he chuckled, "is just a boy. Yes, he was tortured by Morgana, but if anything it would send him further away from her."

"But what if it's not him?" she asked. "What if... he's being controlled? She's controlled and manipulated so many people before, why not Mordred?"

"I..." Gaius lifted his spectacles and cleaned them, again and again, until she heard the glass squeak beneath his sleeve. "I don't know, Merlynn."

"See?" she was victorious. "You think it too now, don't you? I knew something wasn't right with him, and now I know the truth. I need to talk to him -"

"Merlynn. If the boy is under Morgana's control like you speculate, don't you think he would deny it? Go to her and tell her of your suspicions? It could go horribly wrong it you confront him about it so, for now, just don't."

"Fine. For now."

If Morgana had cause to use Mordred as a tool to defeat Arthur, then the boy was dangerous. The thought gripped her suddenly, fiercely, made her breath catch and she could no longer listen to Gaius. Mordred was far too close to her husband, had too much access and too much freedom that made her terrified of what he could accomplish. To the knights, he could to no wrong, and to everyone else, he was just a young boy thrust into the knighthood.

Merlynn had to be spoken to - before he decided to make another attempt on her husband's life.

This day was a Thursday, and since there was no training Gwaine decided to take Arthur out for a drink to distract his mind while Merlynn busied herself with discovering the culprit behind the attack. She couldn't have thanked him more. Mordred entered the bedchamber with lingering suspicion and unease, but he held himself well as he smiled at her with lion's teeth.

"You called for me, my lady?" she was Emrys to him. Never 'my lady', and rarely 'Merlynn'. Always Emrys. The term made her clench her jaw and curse Morgana for her wicked ways, but she too held her resolve as she returned his tight-lipped smile with her own.

"Yes," she said, "take a seat."

In the past she would take his arm, laugh and smile and direct him to his seat, ruffling his hair and speaking to him in dulcet tones. Merlynn tried to do the same, like many times before, but her touch was cold and her laugh dry, as was his. He was tense, and his smile was so wide and tight across his face she wondered how it didn't split in half.

"What was this about?" he asked, his posture relaxed as he took a seat.

Merlynn sipped at the wine she brought up - she needed the liquid courage. "First, I'd like to thank you for taking care of Arthur for me." His eyes, only slightly, widened. "I mean... reassuring him in the way you did, making sure that he was kept safe. I hope you'll be able to protect him when things get a little rougher."

An almost unperceivable smirk appeared on his lips, quirking up at the corners. "You're welcome. I'm only doing my duty as a knight and a server to the kingdom," he replied.

She grit her teeth. Oh, how she wanted to scream and wail and curse Morgana's name, but she had to remain calm. Merlynn needed to draw out the conversation for as long as possible; it was awkward and tense, and lies were spat left and right but there was still information to collect. "How are you handling things?" her voice went soft on its own accord.

"Fine," he bit out. "Morgana didn't hurt me very much."

"When we found you, you were traumatized by what she had done to you. You couldn't sleep when we stopped for rest - all you did was scream. How could you say that she didn't hurt you?" she retorted.

Mordred hissed out a sharp breath. "I watched Elyan die. That was the traumatizing part; all she did was keep me there. She didn't harm me, she didn't want to."

"She tortured you. What did she torture you with?"

"I -" he paused. Things were silent as he looked down at his hands, searching them; she didn't understand what he was thinking about, or trying to say, but she felt triumphant that she had made him question what he was doing with Morgana (or so she hoped). "She didn't torture me. She just kept me in the tower."

"Why?"

"For - I don't know," his expression darkened with his words, and he glared at her.

"How is Morgana, by the way?" she asked.

"What?"

"You heard me. How is she? I mean, you're the only one to have contact with her in the kingdom recently, so it must be you." Merlynn saw his face, the tightness of his jaw and the fierceness of his glare, and she was correct. He opened his mouth, but paused, looking troubled; he looked as though he was trying to piece the words together, to lie to her face and draw things away from her suspicion. "Don't even think you can get away with denying it. I know you, Mordred, and this is not you."

"How dare you think you know me?" he hissed. "You know nothing."

"She's tricked you," she mumbled. "She must be. You wouldn't side with her willingly."

"She is the true queen of Camelot. She is the saviour of our people, and not even you can stop her - next time you try to deter her from the path of ruling Camelot, she will be ready. She is stronger than you, so much stronger, and better - oh so much better," his eyes were darkening, a strange passion behind them as though he was speaking about a god.

Merlynn tried to take a sip from her wine, but there was no feeling of smooth iron beneath her fingers, nor the familiar scratch of wood from the table. No, she couldn't feel a thing. A horrible feeling took over her, consuming and suffocating, and she almost gasped out from it. "Have you..."

"Have I what?" he gritted his teeth and clenched at the arms of the table.

"Have you told her?"

Her eyes never left his; she wanted to watch an expression - any would do - change to her question. She got her answer. As her lip trembled, her fingers shaking against her collarbone, his eyes strayed to her movement and only slightly did a softness she understood entered his eyes. Merlynn wanted to smile from the relief that crushed her being. Though, it was only a split second of a thing, as his eyes were smothered with the ever-present dark glint in his eyes, but it was enough to give her hope.

"Of what?" she didn't betray her answer, for she didn't know if Morgana had rid him of his former memories. "Oh. Emrys." She stiffened. "Not yet. But I plan to. If she found out about you... oh, the possibilities. I'm just waiting for that moment to crush you down, because then my queen will rise. Rise higher than this kingdom, than you, and your king. Once my Lady knows, she will take you, and your king, and slit your throats before your kingdom before you could even try to stop her."

Merlynn did not weep. Merlynn did not stumble or gasp or let out a sob, on her knees and wailing for the old Mordred to return to her. He made a very bad decision in threatening Arthur - to threaten her was bad, yes, because he was a druid and she was Emrys, but to threaten the life of Arthur Pendragon? Her lips twitched, a smile his cerulean eyes were drawn to. When he looked at her eyes again, they were unfeeling and she watched him flinch a little. He was thrown into the wall, held there by a force he could not see or control, and Merlynn - Emrys - stood before him, her teeth bared in a display of feral dominance.

"You can say those things, but you think your petty threats will fool me?" her voice left her throat in a growl she barely recognized as her own voice. "I am Emrys. I am the immortal one, the sufferer, the ones the god created from magic and you think that you, druid boy, can possibly terrify me?! And to threaten Arthur," a bitter laugh left her, "was a stupid decision to make. I am sworn by my blood to protect Arthur, as his wife and his queen, and I will protect him with my life. Tell Morgana, tell her damn Saxon army - I don't care! But if you try to make another pass on Arthur's life, I swear to every god in this world that I will come for you. I will make you pay for your attempt."

She saw fear, genuine fear, spark in his eyes and a gasp leave his red mouth, and she laughed again. She was angry, shaking with it, coils of red blazing anger wrapping around her and pulling taut. Merlynn kept him pressed to the wall as she moved to the table and swallowed the rest of her wine in a single swallow - only then, after she had finished, did she release him.

He crumpled to the floor in a heap, panting and licking at his lips, scrambling for purchase on a chair so he could rise to his shaking feet. "I will tell her of this," he warned.

"I know you will. But Mordred," she paused, "I hope you won't." Merlynn took hold of his throat, her fingers trembling against his flesh, and slid up into his hair. Her eyes, once black with fierce anger, were rimmed-red and glistening. He frowned at her, his mouth opening and closing, but he was content with watching her. "I really hope you won't. You said that you would protect me, once, that you would hide my secret. You promised, Mordred."

"I didn't."

"You did. You can't see that now, because you're under a spell, but it's true," she said, though she was not desperate to make him see anymore; she was calm, she was quiet. "You cared for me - you still do -"

"I only care for my lady Morgana," he hissed at her.

"What did you see when you were in that tower, Mordred?" she interrupted him, and he tensed before her.

"I -"

"What did you see?"

"I don't remember."

"Yes you do. Morgana is just making you hide from it; she doesn't want you to see what she did to you, just so you can be blindly loyal to her. What did you see?"

"Nothing," he shouted. He tried to struggle from her, but she dug her fingers into his scalp to hold fast against him.

"Please, tell me," she begged. "I saw the mandrake root. It sends people mad with hallucinations. She must have kept you in there - please, just tell me and I'll let you go."

Mordred slumped. She felt his hand, cold even through her gown, press against her waist and dig into the material. His other one slid across her back and pressed between her shoulder blades. Merlynn hoped that this was his resurrection as the old Mordred - her Mordred - and that, somehow, she had broken the wretched curse that Morgana took hold of him with as his eyes lost a little bit of that sharp darkness that swirled beneath his gaze.

_No_, she thought. _It's never that easy._

His hand took hold of the ends of her hair and tugged downward, forcing her head to arch and a gasp to leave her mouth. "I saw nothing," he bit out, pulling down again. Her hand, out of pure reflex, moved to where his hand was, trying to detach it from the strands of hair. His vicious grin turned forcefully playful, as though he was trying to hide his disgust. "I think this behaviour is inappropriate, my queen," he chuckled, "I'd hate to see Arthur walk in on us."

"Get off," she grunted and tore his hand from her.

"Goodbye, Emrys." Mordred left, a whistle on his tongue.

She said nothing in return, but she did frown. When he saw Morgana next, he would spill every secret she had ever told him, laughing as he did it. The wretched woman would smile, probably cackle, and touch his hair and his arm and tell him how proud she was. They would kill her through knowledge.

Merlynn felt a lump crawl up her throat and sting at her eyes; she clasped her hand over her lips in an attempt to muffle any noises that would escape her. Water trickled down her cheeks, but she found no strength to wipe them away. Slowly, she slid to the ground, the only thing keeping her from falling was the weight of the chair against her back.

Morgana would know she was Emrys, and she would be doomed.

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred left Merlynn's bedchambers with a curl of his lip and an odd hammering in his chest. He was revolted by the impostor queen, as it was his lady's wishes - whatever she felt, he felt. Merlynn's touch upon his skin, threading through his hair, sent his breath a flutter, a strange curl in his belly, and longed to breathe her in. But it was not his thoughts. _No_, a woman's voice - his lady's - whispered. _She is tricking you; it is lies. She is dangerous._

_Yes, dangerous_, he thought back fiercely. His skin still burned from her touch, as though her fingers were wild flames, digging beneath his flesh and setting brands. He had a moment, then, when he pulled her back and she looked at him with sad eyes, that he almost drew her back. It was his body, not his mind, that wanted her. His body was playing tricks with him; she was manipulating him, trying to make him turn against his lady.

_That must be it._ He could have killed her then, too, and he supposed that Morgana may have been proud of him for it. _Such assertiveness_, she would say, _I'm proud of you._ But he didn't. The reason, he had no clue, but he wished himself to leave that place before his body gave in to their forbidden needs. His clothes, layers upon layers of it, left him panting and his hands, now damp with sweat, were tugging and pulling at the offensive wear, desperately trying to alleviate some of the constriction. Small tufts of cool air slid in the gaps as he pulled, soothing the clammy skin, though for only moments. The air outside was cool, but his body was aflame. So he all but ran out into the town, his relief palpable as the wind brushed against his flushed skin.

Soon, his body was cool again and he was smiling, friendly and polite, to the people who walked the town. His lady had no ill will toward the people, and so neither did he. They returned his grin; some girls whispered, blushing like roses, while the boys tugged at each others' sleeves and pretended to sword fight with sticks. _The power of a knight_, he thought.

His fellow men who were on patrol tipped their heads to him and clapped his arm. They would never realise who he really was - he, the kind young fellow, a diamond in the rough, would remain innocent in the eyes of the knights and the people, even after he murdered the king. They spoke of his loyalty, his blinding admiration of Arthur Pendragon, that he would be met with sympathy and sad smiles, not anger and suspicion. And for that, he smiled. It would be perfect.

Mordred looked into the few stalls there were in the lower town, touching at silk fabrics and warm furs, when he bumped into someone. Apologies spilled from his mouth before he caught the eyes of his lady. The flesh surrounding her ever-brilliant green eyes was aged and wrinkled, turned grey by magic; she was small, hunched at the torso, much shorter than she was in her ordinary, youthful age. He smiled in awe at her power, touching her arm as if to guide her.

"Just a few drops will ease your troubles, my dear," she whispered, and in his hands she placed two small vials. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said with a glance down at the vials, feeling at the wooden screws at the top.

"Are you prepared? Have you found someone to take the fall?"

He had a small list of people in mind, but his most wondrous choice stood at the top, and he was almost too eager to keep it a secret. But, Mordred wanted her to be proud of him. "I have someone in mind," he grinned. "Morgana -" Merlynn is Emrys, he wanted to say, but his tongue thickened, and he was unable to. Surely, after he told her, she would scream and probably try to attack her then and there. They needed her to be composed, for the both of them. _Yes, that is why. _

"Yes, Mordred?"

"I will make you proud," he said instead.

She smiled, a wicked intent hidden beneath her lips. "I know."

**[][][][][][]**

Merlynn composed herself, dabbed on more powder for her flushed cheeks and wiped away at her eyes. If Arthur saw her in such a state, he would demand answers for her tears and curse every name until she gave him reason to attack. Mordred was his protigee; in Arthur's eyes, he could do no wrong. She practiced her smile a few times, each more painful than the last, before she called for supper to be placed on the table.

The seat cut into the back of her thighs and left her shuffling about a thousand times over, unable to be comfortable for a second. Finally, she found a place on the seat that was acceptable while she supped, and waited for a servant to return with her dinner, something she still was not used to. It was always she who had to run back and forth and, even after four years of being a queen, she was still unable to be comfortable with having another fetch her food.

Gwen came soaring in, two trays balanced on her hands, wisps of dark curls falling into her soft face. She was smiling; it was warm, genuine, one of those smiles that none could do anything but return. Galahad spun around her feet and squealed with such a delight when he saw her that a laugh slipped from her chest as he leaped into her arms.

"Evening, Merlynn," Gwen said, giggling a little as she set the plates down. "Arthur not here yet?"

"No. He must still be with the men," she replied easily and kissed Galahad's forehead. He laughed wildly, stubby hands coming to touch her hair and tug at it gently.

"He's missed you. As have I," her hug was reminiscent to a mother's, warm and forgiving and soft, despite the awkward positioning of it. "I'm sorry for not being a good chambermaid."

"It's entirely understandable," Merlynn almost rolled her eyes.

"I know, but -"

"No buts," she took a seat, letting Galahad remain on her lap. "Sit with me until Arthur returns?"

Gwen sighed; she removed the tops of the plates and set them neatly on the edge of the table, before sitting across from her. It was a stew of some sort of the evening, chunky and with such a delicious aroma that it made Merlynn's mouth water. "I can never deny you, Merlynn. How is Arthur,

by the way?"

"Fine." She paused. "There's a traitor in the kingdom, Gwen," she admitted, biting at her thumbnail.

She gasped, hand clutching at her throat. "Oh. Who is it?"

"I -"

Arthur steps were loud and cut her off completely as he bounded into the room, his chainmail clinking together like chimes. "Sorry I'm late," he was bashful when he came to her, his gloved hand warm on her arm, his mouth soft on her hair. "I hope the food isn't too cold."

"I'm sure you'll be punished later," Gwen winked in such a fashion that it made even Merlynn blush. "I'll go. I have a four year old to prepare dinner for. Come along, Galahad."

"Arfur!" he screamed and stood in Merlynn's lap, his hands reaching desperately for his god-father. Arthur laughed and lifted him up into his arms, swinging him in circles, making him scream even louder. Her smile melted, turning almost sad as she saw the image of her husband with a child; though Galahad looked nothing like Arthur, he still seemed like a father to him with the way his eyes glimmered, the smile set in his mouth. Even his laugh was different, and it made her heart ache that she was called barren by those who did not know her. She was unable to give him a son, and in the eyes of the people, she was unfit to be the wife of a queen.

"Soon, I'll teach you how to use a sword. How would you like that?"

Arthur declared and laughed again as Galahad squealed his excitement over the offer. When he set the child down, he ran to his mother and clutched at her skirts, telling the story over and over again as she lead him out the door. "I'll be paying for that later," he remarked as Gwen shut the door behind her.

"My ears will be paying for that later," she said. "I was beginning to wonder where you were."

"Extra training. With that intruder on the loose, we can't be too careful. After Elyan's death... we've slackened. Even Gwaine's swordhand was a little weak today."

"I can imagine."

Arthur smiled at her and collected the jug of wine from the table behind them, asking, "Would you like some?"

"Of course." _I need it,_ she thought as her goblet filled nearly to the brim. "It's been a long week."

"Don't I know it," he replied, sitting to her left. "You know, we never really got to celebrate our anniversary, did we?"

"Too busy saving your arse for the thousandth time."

He rolled his eyes at her cheeky grin and raised his goblet to her. "To us." She repeated the words as their goblets touched then, together, they drank the contents in a single swallow. "The wine is strong tonight," he coughed out.

She laughed at his red cheeks. "Or maybe your stomach is getting weaker, old man."

"I'll give you old man!" he leaned in, his nose relentless as it rubbed against a ticklish spot on her neck, his arms trapping her in the chair. His mouth joined in, teeth and tongue, kissing and biting at her flesh. She yelped in his grasp, squirming and shouting for him to release her, but her laughter overcame the desire to be set free.

Arthur abruptly let her go and swayed back, slumping into his chair. He was pale, damp at the neck and forehead, and was panting. Merlynn was ready to give a comment on his age and stamina, but as she saw his eyes, bleary and glossed over, her laughter died.

"Arthur?"

He tried to speak, though not a sound left his mouth. As he looked at her, she saw a panic in them, one that made her throat constrict. It took only a second before his body fell deep into the chair, and his eyes slid shut; to an unseeing eye, he was asleep. Experience told her that it took at least six goblets of wine for him to be drowsy with drink, not one. Merlynn sniffed at his goblet and noticed a tangy undertone to the sweetness of the wine. Something she had smelt before, tasted before, but the name could not come to her.

It wasn't poison, but a tincture.

She left the bedchamber. Her form was an image of calm, though beneath she was a storm in the sea. Merlynn found the nearest guard she could find; there was no reason for her to question the lack of guards, for it was a pointless thing to think of. "If you could please," she said, though her voice sounded like gravel, her tongue like ash in her mouth, "call for the physician. There's been an accident."

The guard took notice of what betrayed her composure, the tremble in her hands and shoulders and lips, and the set of her jaw. "Y - yes, my lady."

She watched him run, and as she did so she felt a swirl of magic strike into her back like an arrow. Merlynn wretched out a scream from the shock of it, reaching blindly for the source of it as though when she touched her spine there would be an arrow sticking from it. The magic was fierce, not hers, and with it came a deep, bellowing anger that shook her to the core.

It was familiar, and it was the familiarity that made her turn back to the doors that lead to the royal hallway. "No," she whispered, a sickening feeling sliding down her throat like mud.

Merlynn ran. She passed servants and people of the high court, no doubt looking half-mad in her heavy gown and messed hair, pushing through them haphazardly. Arthur was the only person on her mind.

As she reached her bedchambers and swung open the door, she felt her eyes sting and a small whimper escape her mouth. Slowly, ever so, her hand reached her mouth and she found herself gasping for breath as she hurried over to the limp form of Arthur. Merlynn's fingers were warm against his clammy face. She always marvelled on his youthful beauty, of the golden hue of his skin that was so reminiscent of the sun that she almost believed him to be a descendent of a god of light, but as she stared at the blue that coloured his cheeks and the black that surrounded his eyes, she thought him a son of death.

She had seen him on the brink of death before, but never like this. "No," she sobbed openly, weeping against his cooling shoulder, her hands splayed across his cheek. "Arthur, please. No."

Arthur was her husband, her king, the one she was sworn to until the end of days, and he was lying there, cold and hard, his skin devoid of colour. He was almost dead, but she felt his weak breathes, the small whoop in his chest as his lungs struggled to contract and expand with air, the faint thrum of his heart. He was alive, but he was escaping between her fingers like water, and there was nothing she could do to collect him.

Merlynn felt her magic, the deepest, most primative part of it, lurch up in her stomach and curl, poised to lash out with the myriad of emotions that threatened to swallow her whole. But she held it back, her fingers locked tight in Arthur's tunic, desperately trying to keep it locked away until she was away from the castle.

_No_, she was queen. A queen didn't weep. A queen was strong, she was fierce, she wasn't weak.

So she took her seat and took Arthur's hand, her mouth soft against his cooling temple. She waited until Gaius entered, the knights alongside him. They regarded their king with solemn eyes and then her, with her hand over his. Leon stepped forward, tears in his eyes, and set a hand on her shoulder, but she did not move.

"Merlynn, we need to move him to the bed," he told her, his voice the most quiet it had ever been. Normally, she would have acknowledged him with a smile or a nod, but all she did was shrug his hand off her shoulder and stood. She watched them carry him to their shared bed, and then, as Gaius began to check over his body, she went to him.

"G - Gaius, what has happened?" she felt Gwaine's hand, almost too warm, touch her waist as she spoke, and she wondered if they had ever seen her so lax.

Gaius' eyes were wet as he looked at her. "All evidence suggests that the king has been poisoned," he declared, though his voice was somber.

"You're certain, Gaius?" Gwaine asked.

"Quite certain," he nodded. "The sweating, the corruption of the skin, the traces of tincture around the ear. They all point to the use of henbane."

"Is there no hope?" he spoke, words thickened by false tears. It took every ounce of her being not to turn and strangle him where he stood, so much so that her breathing quickened by the force of the urge. He was close, too close, to both Arthur and herself, and his magic prodded at hers teasingly. Mocking and taunting, as though she was a snake and he was a troublesome boy with a stick.

"The poison is a deadly one. There may be a way to arrest its course but I cannot guarantee it." Spells already gathered in her mind, buzzing by like flies; each one stronger than the last, though its true purpose was unknown. She would try a thousand if she had to.

"Who could have done this?" Leon hissed.

"I do not know," she said, but the words were spat out, vicious and unkind.

"My lady, if I may." Mordred stepped forward, hands clasped before him, face set in a way that gave the illusion of a deep-set sadness. The knights parted for him as if he were a god among them. "Whoever did this lives among us. I am certain that they are someone in high leagues with the king, someone who any of us would never suspect. Who was the last person to see him?"

"Merlynn was, but it can't have been her," Gwaine said with a guffaw.

"Gaius, how was the poison administered?"

"Well, it has to be poured into the ear - however, in order to do so, the victim has to be unconscious," Gaius responded.

"He began to fall asleep after he took a drink, so someone must have tinkered with it." Her eyes flickered to Mordred to see him already looking back at her with a smile so wicked she thought of Morgana. She would scream, as her blood became wildfire beneath her skin, but she held her tongue, bit it hard until pain flared because she wasn't strong enough to _not care _about Mordred.

"Whoever did this lives among us," Gwaine declared, and shared a look with her.

She watched him, never once changing her expression, because she could see what he was going to do before he began to speak.

"Well, who delivered his food?"

They looked to her, and she was honest, "Gwen, but -"

"Gwen wouldn't do that," Leon defended, his brows bunched in the middle.

"My queen," Mordred stepped forward, his cheeks coloured. "Men. I do not wish to cause any treason, but I daresay I remember Merlynn speaking with an old woman in the town; she placed something in her hands. I thought it liquor, or potion - but I guess... I'm sorry, my lady, but it is the only conclusion we can come to. No one else has seen the king, but you and Gwen."

Eyes turned to her, and she felt something flat flare in her belly; it was dull, like a bug trying to free itself from ink. Merlynn wondered how Lancelot would approach the situation, for when she noticed him, hanging near the back, she saw his face go red. "I -"

She looked at each of them. There wasn't a lot she could do, she reasoned; if she put the attention on Mordred, he would be killed, and she would not allow that to happen; if she went to Gwen (_poor woman, poor woman_, she thought) there would be much hell to pay, and there was no one else. No one else. Gwaine, among the rest, was staring at her deeply, brows furrowed and jaw clenched tight, and she hoped he didn't believe Mordred. But then he went slack, looked to the others and then to Arthur, and she thought, he believes him? They all do.

"How dare you accuse my best friend?" Lancelot roared, his sword drawn and poised at the flesh of Mordred's throat in seconds. "She is a good woman, and loves Arthur more than anything! Go on, Merlynn, tell him - tell them all!" His eyes, wide and furious and flickering with something akin to flames, glared at her. "Tell them what happened."

"Take me, then. Take me to the cells," and she knew that, then, she had sealed her fate.

"What?" Lancelot paled. He could see her, he knew her, and as her lies spilled from her mouth he stepped toward her, "Merlynn, n -"

"It's okay, Lancelot," she muttered. It's okay.

But as they took her, their hands cold against her warmed wrists, she felt her eyes burn and her knees tremble; if Gwaine did not have her, she would have fallen. She had not looked at Gaius during the accusal, but she felt his eyes on her, and she knew he would try to keep Arthur alive. Until she got to him, at least.

Later, as she sat in her cell (which was metal and cold and detached), he visited. The guards near the door were reluctant to let him in; "King slayer," they whispered, "traitor," but all she did was curl her fingers and dig her nails into the soft skin of her palm. At one point, she drew blood, splattering across her gown, and she wished to destroy the blasted thing. Red, of Camelot, of dragons and of the blood that coursed through the veins of the people, of what slicked the streets and the bedchambers of the citadel - she could not bare to wear the colour any longer.

"You were right," Gaius whispered, his mouth cold against her hair. "Whatever Morgana did, she's taken control over Mordred. Like you said."

"Sometimes, Gaius, I wish I wasn't right," she admitted with a sad smile. "Can you save Arthur?"

His face, pale as the light that seeped through the windows like cow's milk, flushed pink in his regret, for her eyes must have been piercing. "The poison is too strong, too virulent. Your magic is his only hope."

"I need to get out of here somehow."

**[][][][][][]**

Mordred was one of the very few who were elected to stay with the dying king. Leon, the most naive of them all, sat beside him; he was weeping, more like a boy than a man and trembling like one, and Mordred wanted to vomit.

"He was my best friend, you know?" Leon whispered.

"He's our strength, our heart," Mordred added, his voice filled with a passion that left a bad taste in his mouth. "It will be hard - impossible - to live with him. And what of Merlynn?" he forced tears. "She is our queen; we all love her, look up to her. What she has done..."

"Is almost too impossible to believe," he remarked.

He tensed, because he saw Leon watching him and, for a moment, he thought the knight had figured it out. It was a bit surprising how easy it was to turn them against her; he almost, almost, spread her secret, but his tongue swelled and he found himself sweating before the words could leave his lips. And she had already agreed, silently and ready to lash at him, but she went with the accusation, and he knew she would've. Because he knew her; the sacrificial lamb complex, the protective instinct - everything, he knew, and he almost laughed with the joy of her falling into his hands.

"I don't know what Camelot is going to do without a king, or a queen," he said, biting at his nail.

Leon sighed, and stood. "If Arthur is to die, then Merlynn will follow, and the kingdom will lose its leaders. So we need to be prepared."

"If we do not have a leader and a guide... Camelot, and all the kingdom, will be vulnerable," he pointed out. "But who will wear his crown? Merlynn appears to be barren, and... there is no one else eligble?"

"Gaius, possibly, or Gwen. Gwen has been appointed as the watcher of the kingdom in case of the king and queen leaving, and so I guess they will have a co-regency, perhaps," Leon told him.

I need to tell Morgana. Gaius could be tricked, with lies and with deceit, and so he was easy; Gwen had things to lose, precious people she cared for, and so it wouldn't take much to control her. _Ah yes_, he thought with a quirk of his mouth, _this will be simple_. "We can only hope, though, that Arthur survives."

And if he does, then I shall slit his throat and watch his blood paint the room.

**[][][][][]**

Transforming into another was an odd feeling, she thought. It was not the becoming of something else, it was the feeling of aging at accelerated speed, to physically feel her bones weaken and become brittle beneath her flesh, which became rough, spotted in places on her arms and chest; aging at such a speed was exhausting, indeed.

But when Gaius lowered the potion through the hatch at the top of the cell, Merlynn grinned. It was tight on her mouth, because it would be painful and oh, how she hated to become the old woman, but she would be escaping.

It took only minutes after swallowing the potion for it to take effect. Such an odd feeling to describe, bones twisting and curving and aching, fingers bending and back arching and shoulders falling forward in a hunch; she tried not to scream, or make any noise at all, before she completed the transformation. Once she was complete, she transfigured her gown into something akin to Gaius' robes, yet feminine enough that they wouldn't mistake her for a man. Her hair remained curly, but grey ran through the brown, and turned dry as the palms of her hands, hanging limply down her chest.

Merlynn flipped the latch and walked out from the cell. The guards, who she didn't understand how they kept their jobs, were battling each other a game of dice. When they saw her, they yelped and stood, swords drawn. She wanted to laugh.

"Who are you?" one demanded.

"What kind of fool are you? I am who I am and I am who I was and I am who I will always be," she rambled, and held back another roar of laughter at the alarm on their faces.

"That's no answer."

"It's the only one worth giving," she bit out.

The second guard pushed at her chin with the flat of his blade, tilting it further upwards so her features were illuminated by the soft orange of the candlelight. "What are you doing here?"

"You're a bunch of idiots. Incredible," she scoffed. "I don't know how you keep your blinkin' jobs. I'm visiting the cells, obviously, as you should know."

"No, you're not," the first said. "Not unless we say so, you're not."

"But you did say so. Just ten minutes ago. You said so and so I did so, so don't tell me that you didn't say so because you said so." _There are some benefits to being old_, she thought.

The guards shared a glance; she wondered if they were scared of her insane persona, or perhaps irritated - or both. Both, she hoped.

"No, we didn't," the second argued.

"How in the bloody hell are you supposed to be guards?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up with a roll of the eyes. "It's hardly any wonder your prisoners are being murdered if you can't even remember who you're letting in and who you're letting out. You let me in! And I thank you for that. And now, apparently I have to let myself out."

Merlynn stormed past with a bump of the shoulders and a haughty huff that Geoffrey of Monmouth would have gleamed at.

She walked through the halls, knowing and remembering each turn and twist, footsteps unheard by even the patrolling guards, who could not see her huddled frame in the cast of shadows through the cut stone. Like a ghost, she became, hiding in pillars until the guards could not hear her muffled groans when she tried to return to herself. Merlynn was strong, stronger than she was when she first turned old, but she still slumped, mouth slack and knees unfelt, and watched the world spin around her in a myriad of blues and greys and blacks.

The scent of meadows and sulphur stung her nose, and she crawled back against the small panel of open space between the pillars. His scent, so familiar it almost hurt to recognize, settled around her like a cloak, but he was not among the patrolling guard. Gwaine was, though, and she almost reached out and grabbed at him, ready to tell him anything and everything until she was unable to breathe. But he passed, his mouth set, and she was able to move again toward her bedchamber.

"There!" she heard and, not looking back, she ran.

They were fast, but she had practice; she had magic. The hood of the transfigured robes - whose time had not run out yet - kept her face hidden as she kept herself just out of reach. Merlynn took a sharp left and leaped out a window to fall in a roll to her back, unharmed. Her body, buzzing with adrenaline and magic and rage, intertwining until she was almost coloured with it, could not feel the usual pain she would have felt, so she found a place to hide and waited.

_There_, she thought. Her bedchamber window, high up and almost impenetrable, was golden and reminded her of stardust. Merlynn ducked her head as a horde of knights ran passed.

"Inform the men we have an intruder," Percival declared. "Put the citadel on high alert."

The warning bells sang quickly after that, and she wondered if the towns nearby were able to hear it, as it was so loud. She watched the knights shout and call orders, going into formations she knew back to front; weaknesses and strengths, best fighter to worst. A part of her thought of herself in Mordred's situation and she hoped that, without her, Camelot would be able to survive (though, a large part of her doubted it).

"_Faerblaed waw_," she whispered, sliding her palm across the floor by her feet. Each fire, from the front gate to the south entrance (with the exception of her bedchamber), went out with the movement.

None made a peep, but she, if she tried, could almost hear their hearts thump against their chests, and wished she could laugh.

"That was no wind. That was sorcery," Percival muttered, but she heard it clearly.

Lancelot, standing to the back of the formation in the centre of the courtyard, did not appear frightened; his sword was not even drawn. He was searching, and she felt his questions spur through his mind, vibrant as the candles flickering in the upper window.

"Light the braziers," Gwaine shouted. "Search the courtyard."

Lancelot was ordered near her. As he passed, she reached out and tugged him behind the pillar where she hid. He went to shout, and she heard it crawl up his throat, so she pressed her hand tight to shush him. "It's me," she whispered, and his eyes widened. "You need to keep them away from Arthur's window, and his bedchamber. Can you do that?"

He nodded and left.

"I saw the intruder!" she heard him call out, watched him race toward the gate. "This way!"

Merlynn crept out from her hiding spot once the knights were gone and went to the bottom of the tower where the window was. She used her magic, only slightly to shift out some of the bricks so she was able to clamber up with ease. It took only minutes, with only brief intervals to keep herself from stumbling and falling half-way up; soon, she was sliding into the (thankfully) open window and hiding behind the closest wall.

Mordred, and Leon, were in there with Gaius, standing by the wall at the bed. They were chatting quietly, and she wondered the topic; surely, it was not of her, but rather Mordred's regrets and sadness, of his friendship with Arthur that left him heartbroken. She scoffed quietly.

Lancelot, panting and cheeks red, burst into the room. "Are you all alright?"

"Yes," Gaius replied.

"You haven't seen anything? Heard anything?"

"Nothing," Mordred said. "Why?"

"There's an intruder. We last saw them in the main courtyard, but we lost sight of them."

Gaius made a brief eye contact with her; nothing changed, all but a quirk of the mouth. "Well, you must all go. You need all the help you can get - I will be safe here."

"Are you sure, Gaius?" Mordred asked, brow furrowed.

"I promise. I may be an old man, but I can handle myself."

"Bu - "

Lancelot grabbed at Leon and Mordred's arms. "Gaius is right. We need all eyes in the city." _Thank you, _she thought.

Once they were gone, Merlynn left her hiding spot and came toward Arthur. He was pale, almost purple with sickness, and she feared his chest had stopped moving; it was sparse, weak little puffs, and she felt death chill the room.

"How is he?" she asked.

"His heart nearly stopped," he told her. Her own did the same as he said the words. "I fear he's close to death."

Merlynn pressed her hand to his chest, just next to his heart. She closed her eyes and searched through his body, through his blood stream, anywhere her magic could reach. A gasp almost left her as a murky, slick feeling struck back against her, and she said, "The sickness is so deep in him. I don't... Gaius, I don't know if I can do this." Tears dribbled down her cheeks, face red, but her hand never left his chest.

"You can."

She took a deep breath - more like three, because she was tired and the poison that sunk deep in his bones was something she had never touched before - and found the most powerful part of her. The dragontamer, Emrys, every magical source she had deep in her body roared to life as she sent it through her hands to crackle from her fingertips. "Ic the thurhaele thinu licsar mid thamsundorcraeft thaere ealdan ae!"

It was a rush of air, something live and golden and powerful, that left her, sent soaring into Arthur's body. She could almost picture the dark substance in him bubble and burn from her magic, and she wished Morgana could feel it herself. Once the magic settled, she stepped away from him and let Gaius check him over. He felt at the pulse at Arthur's wrist, his throat, then put an ear to his chest. Merlynn watched his body freeze and as he turned to her, those eyes so sad and overwhelming, she almost crumbled. _Almost. _Cupping her mouth, both hands pressed tight she couldn't breathe, she held back desperate, choked sobs that left her shoulders trembling. _No, no, _she thought. _He can't be gone - no. _

But, then, Arthur mumbled. He _mumbled. _His eyelids fluttered, short puffs of breathe leaving him, and he was _alive. _Her name left his blue lips, and he shuffled in the bed, turning onto his side.

"Merlynn," Gaius said, and pulled her into his arms. "Well done." _I did it. _He kissed her head. "You'd better get back to the cells before you're missed."

She made a noise at the back of her throat, eyes wide. "There are guards on _every floor. _How do I get back?"

"The same way you came up, obviously," he gave her a sly smile.

Merlynn looked toward the window; climbing up was easy, for she could see where she was going. It was climbing _down _that had always terrified her. "_Obviously." _

**[][][][][][]**

She woke the next morning to the sound of her cell door creaking open. Merlynn winced, the sound like birds screeching against her ears, and forced her eyes open. The light in the room became almost unbearable to her sensitive pupils, which strained against it. There were two people before her, blurry and disfigured for her tired eyes, but as they cleared she saw Gaius and Gwaine's smiling faces staring back.

Merlynn realised then, the position she was in. Entirely undignified, her gown (now back to its ordinary form) torn and muddy and covered in hay, slung over the too-small bench, legs and arms either side of it. She was also pretty sure there was a small pool of drool by her mouth.

"Morning, your grace," Gaius' tone held amusement.

She glared at him. "Don't even, Gaius." Merlynn didn't even look at Gwaine.

"Arthur wants to speak with you," he said.

"Am I free to leave?"

Gwaine nodded, and went for her arm. She moved it just out of reach. He sighed, but answered, "Yes, my lady. It has been discovered that it is not you - it was another, we think it was Morgana. Mordred must have seen her instead."

_He saw her, alright. _"Ah. A big misunderstanding, right?" she laughed a little. "Least it was found out _before _you decided to cut my head off and burn me. If you'll excuse me."

Merlynn couldn't help her giddiness as she went closer to Arthur. _Yes, _she was queen and _yes, _she felt positively embarrassed walking passed people in her dirty gown, but Arthur was _alive _and she just didn't care about what she looked like, not when he was _there. _She didn't knock on the door; rather, she slammed it open and ran at him, the first warm body she could see.

"Merl - _oof!" _he almost toppled to the floor, and she feared she had hurt him, but he only held her back - possibly even tighter.

She almost wept. "Thank the gods," she whispered into his throat. His mouth pressed soft kisses to her forehead, and she felt his fingers dig into the material at her waist; she wished they weren't wearing clothes.

"I'm sorry they put you in the cells," he said. "I don't even understand why they'd even _think _to blame you."

"They were upset - people do silly things when they're upset."

He smiled, and kissed her cheek. "Indeed."

"Arthur," a sudden, desperate thought clung to her. _Mordred. _He had to know. "I need to tell you something. It's important."

Arthur was almost oblivious to the panic lacing her tone, for he was too busy tying his tunic strings together. "Sorry, Merlynn. Can we speak after? Some new evidence has come to light, thanks to Mordred. Get dressed and meet me at the doors." He kissed her mouth, and left.

Merlynn changed into the first dress she could find - a blue, loose thing - and hurried to the council chambers. Most of the people knew of what had happened, and so she knew she wouldn't be judged by them for the state of her appearance.

Mordred stood, to Arthur's left, and she took her place by his right. They shared a glance, a brief thing that looked like a mere flicker of the eyes, but she could feel his anger, his _satisfaction, _curl into her as a content cat and she felt her anger, her viciousness, lash out like a viper and strike it down. He flinched, barely, but it made her smirk.

A man stood before them. He was old, grey-haired and tall, fingers long and spidery. But he was shaking, as though terrified.

"One of my knights found these vials in my chambers," he held them up. "They bear, as you can see, a distinctive mark. Thanks to his tireless effort, he has been able to trace them." As Arthur walked forward, Mordred looked at her again; she couldn't bare to look back. "This is your mark, is it not?"

"It is my mark, yes," he replied.

"And what does this vial contain?"

The man hesitated. "It... it's _valerian, _sire. It renders the subject unconscious."

Arthur held up the second one. "This one?"

"Henbane," he _almost _smirked. "It's poison, my lord."

"A lethal poison. And it is only thanks to the great skill of my physician that I am still alive," he spat.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I…I supplied it, I must confess. But I did not know that it was intended for you. In truth, I was - um - too afraid to ask," she could see he was not lying, for his shoulders began to tremble again, and his eyes were wide.

Arthur cocked his head. "Too afraid to ask who?"

"She who…procured it."

"And did you recognize this woman?" he asked.

"Well, I cannot say for certain but I believed it to be Morgana Pendragon."

Merlynn felt the tension suffocate the room, vibrating from Arthur's very being. She saw his back tense, and if she were able to see his face his jaw would be clenched so tight you'd be able to see his muscles flex. He nodded once, and the man (who's name she would never know) was lead out by two guards.

"The truth has been uncovered," Arthur declared, turning back to them. There was now a fondness in his eyes that made her frown. "Thanks to Mordred, we were able to discover who the culprit was, and prevent a possible mistake happening." He touched her arm, pulling her close to his side. "Each and every one of us owes Mordred, and our queen, a great debt."

Mordred moved to her other side, took the flat of her palm, and lead her forward. "Long live the queen."

The people in the council chamber began to chant it as she stood in the middle of them all. She saw Mordred grinning, though his eyes were cold and unfeeling and so very wicked, and she felt stifled under his gaze. So she turned from him, looked to the people, who were both smiling and apologetic for doubting her, and she returned their smiles, because - truly - she couldn't stay mad at them.

But then, she thought, _yes, long live the queen, _and glanced back at Mordred. She was still smiling.

* * *

**Sorry if it sucked. I tried, though, I really tried. **

** .34: **_Hopefully, _he will~

**sgt pippa: **thank you! :D

**CatchingCraziness: **before the end of the series, I want to have one of the knights know hopefully!

**Oleander:** thank you so much! Hopefully, the depression will go away soon gah x

**KlausMordredLove: **I dunnnoooooooo :P

**I would reply to more people, and I'm sorry that I hasn't, but I really don't have the strength to move much right now, omg. Gosh, guys, hopefully I can write up something good _soon _- and not in a month's time. :/ Trial exams come in like a month or two, anyway, so I need to pull my shit together _sigh. _**

**Love you all so very much, and thank you all for sticking by me, **

**Khaleesi~**


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